*    HEROES  ^ARGONNE  FOREST   '     'Tr 


I 


HISTORY  OF  THE    77th   DIVISION    AT  A    GLANCE 

Organized — September  to  November,  191 7,  Camp  Upton,  N.  Y. 
Demobilized — May,  1919,  Camp  Upton,  N.  Y. 


Division  Commanders 


MAT.  GEN.  J.  FRANKLIN  BELL 
BRIG.  GEN.  E.  M.  JOHNSON 

MAJOR  CASUALTIES  BY  UNITS 

305th  Infantry 

306th  Infantry 

307th  Infantry 

308th  Infantry 


304th  Machine  Gun  Battalion 
305th  Machine  Gun  Battaibn 
306th  Machine  Gun  Battalion 

304th  Field  Artillery 

305th  Field  Artillery 

306th  Field  Artillery 

302nd  Engineers 

Total 


MAJ.  GEN.  GEORGE  B.  DUNCAN 
MAJ.  GEN.  ROBERT  ALENANDER 


Killed 

Died  of 

Missing 

Prisoners 

Total 

in  action 

wounds 

262 

150 

119 

0 

531 

203 

91 

173 

155 

622 

320 

132 

85 

71 

608 

343 

105 

125 

109 

682 

2 

3 

0 

0 

5 

22 

9 

5 

0 

36 

42 

9 

1 

1 

53 

25 

10 

2 

0 

37 

15 

9 

6 

0 

30 

16 

10 

2 

0 

28 

25 

24 

11 

0 

60 

1275 

552 

529 

336 

2692 

TOTAL  OF  ALL  CASUALTIES— 961 1 


Nature 

Killed  in  Action 

Died  of  Wounds 

Severely  Wounded 

Wounded  Slightly 

Gassed   

Missing  in  Action 

Prisoners  (at  latest  report) . 

Total 


icers 
69 
10 
69 
82 
71 


Men 

1299 

iSS 

1894 

2889 

2297 

696 

31 

9294 


Heavy  Artillery 
Light  Artillery . 
Trench  Mortars 
Machine  Guns. 
Rifles 


MATERIAL  CAPTURED 

Vesle    Ar-    Meuse  Total 

Sonne 
o  s  13  18 


14 


J400     3200     7000 


Engineer  and  Railway  Material  worth  $2, 000,000. 


PRISONERS  CAPTURED 


Front 

Baccarat 

Vesle 

Argonne  Forest . 
Forest  to  Meuse. 

Total 


,cers 

Men 

Total 

0 

3 

3 

0 

27 

27 

2 

619 

63I 

1 

88 

89 

DISTANCE  GAINED 
Sector 


Baccarat 

Vesle 

Argonne  Forest . 
Forest  to  Meuse . 

Total 


Kilo- 
meters 

Miles 

0 

0.0 

12 

7-5 

22 

13-7 

37'  2 

23-5 

n% 

44-7 

DIVISION'S  ACTIVITIES  DAY  BY  DAY 

U.S.         France      Total 

Days  in  Training 156  44  200 

Days  in  Travel 76 

(Based  on  one  regimental  unit) 

At  Sea 

On  Trains 

On  Motor  Trucks 

Hiking:  Behind  the  Lines 

Into    Enemy    Terri- 
tory   

Days  in  Reserve 

Days  in  Rest  Area 

Days  in  Front  Line 

Baccarat (June  17  to  Aug.     2) 

Vesle  River (Aug.  12  to  Sept.    3) 


14 
5 

22K 


33 


13 
None 


Oise-Aisne 

Meuse-Argonne: 
Argonne  Forest 


(Sept.    4  to  Sept.  15) 


.    (Sept.  25  to  Oct.     9)     14 

Forest  to  Meuse (Oct.  10-15;   Oct.   31-     17 

Nov.  11) 


TOTAL  DAYS  IN  SERVICE 

Calculated  from  Sept.  10,  191 7,  when  first 
Selective  Service  Men  arrived  at  Upton,  to 
May  6,  1919,  New  York's  parade  to  the  re- 
turning victors 


AWARDS 
(to  May  6,  1919) 


Medal  of  Honor 

Distinguished  Service  Cross. 
Croix  de  Guerre 


Total 


572 


5 
159 
61 

225 


THE  VICTORIOUS 


»-      3  ,    „ 


DIVISION 

(TSIew  York's  Own:) 

IN  THE  ARGONNE  FIGHT 

&y  1st  Lieut  Arthur  McKeo^h 


Published    J5y 
JOHN     H.    EGG£RS       CO.inc 

TIMES    BUILDING-TIMES    SQ. 

"NEWYORK 
Copyright  1919,  John  H.£ggers.>«r 


5 


"You  people  in  New  York  have  every  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  Seventy- 
Seventh  Division.  I  had  the  great  honor  to  command  it  on  the  Vesle,  at 
the  Aisne,  and  in  the  Argonne  Woods,  and  up  on  the  heights  opposite 
Sedan,  where  we  were  ready  for  action  when  the  armistice  was  signed.  I 
never  met  men  more  loyal,  faithful,  or  a  better  body  of  troops,  officers 
and  men  included." 


Photo  Brown  Bros. 

OVER 


THE  77TH  DIVISION 

(New   York's  Own) 

By 

1st  LIEUT.  ARTHUR  McKEOGH 

Of  the  77th  Division 

"  .  .  .  While  our  left  embraced  the  Argonne  Forest,  whose 
ravines,  hills  and  elaborate  defense,  screened  by  dense  thick- 
ets,  had  been  generally  considered  impregnable." 

Reporting  after  the  armistice  to  the  Secretary  of  War,  in  these  words  General 
Pershing  characterized  a  veritable  jungle — the  strongest  of  all  German  defenses  on 
the  whole  front,  from  the  North  Sea  to  Switzerland. 

The  fighting  men  who  could  pierce  that  vast  fortress  of  nature,  made  doubly 
impenetrable  by  the  diabolic  ingenuity  of  the  Boche,  were  to  immortalize  themselves 
in  American  history. 

The  fighting  men  who  could  and  did  conquer  the  famous  Forest  were  New 
York's  citizen-soldiers,  the  77th  Division. 

When  Byng,  the  Britisher,  "pushed"  for  5  miles  at  Cambrai  all  the  world  was 
agasp.  The  77th  Division  started  from  a  five-mile  front  and  drove  back  the  Ger- 
mans day  after  day  for  two  weeks.  And  when  the  Forest  had  been  cleared,  when 
its  last  concealed  machine  gun  nest  had  been  silenced,  the  77th  had  gained  14  miles! 

Fourteen  miles  of  heart-breaking  plunging  through  thickets  that  spat  death 
with  the  rapidity  of  the  serpent's  fang!  The  historian  of  The  Stars  and  Stripes, 
the  official  overseas  publication,  speaks  of  the  clearing  of  the  Argonne  Forest  as 
'unique  in  the  annals  of  the  American  Expeditionary  Forces." 

It  was  a  conquest,  as  it  had  to  be,  not  without  its  price.  In  the  three  weeks 
between  September  26,  the  star5,°Xt^e^ffensive,  and  October  16,  when  Grand  Pre 


and  St.  Juvin,  important  towns  on  the  northern  fringe  of  the  wood,  had  been  taken 
— in  those  three; weeks* -the- 7*Ztp  lo*st*.wi  killed,  wounded  and  missing  3,697  of  its 
best.  -""-•-    ■>•"•*• 

The  New  Yorkers  paid  the  score  unflinchingly.  Paid  it — and  "carried  on." 
For  after  a  two-week's  breathing  spell,  still  under  shellfire,  for  re-equipment  and 
refilling  the  ranks,  the  77th  took  up  where  it  had  left  ofF  and  advanced  23  additional 
miles! 

Thus,  with  the  armistice,  they  achieved  the  gates  of  Sedan,  after  reclaiming  a 
total  of  more  than  37  miles  for  France. 

And  their  conquest  freed  10,000  French  civilians  who  had  lived  for  four  years 
in  Teuton  bondage. 

NO   OTHER   DIVISION   WON    SO   MUCH 

No  other  division  in  the  whole  Meuse — Argonne  Offensive — and  there  were 
twenty-one  of  them  in  this  operation — won  as  much  ground  as  the  77th.  No  other 
division  was  in  the  front  line  both  at  the  start  and  finish.  No  other  division, 
whoever  the  claimant,  fought  its  way  completely  through  the  "impregnable" 
Argonne  Forest. 

How  shall  the  wonder  of  it  be  depicted?  Who  could  have  believed  possible  such 
a  transformation  in  the  youthful  civilians,  inducted  into  the  service  at  Camp 
Upton,  that  they  were  able  to  beat  the  veteran  German  hosts  out  of  a  wooded 
stronghold  which  had  balked  the  trained  French  for  more  than  four  years,  on 
ground  which  had  cost  them  60,000  men?  And  to  add  to  the  glory  of  its  achieve- 
ment, the  77th  faced  five  different  enemy  divisions  at  various  times. 

Flash  on  your  mind  this  picture,  faithfully  drawn  from  life;  it  may  serve  to  visual- 
ize what  the  fighting  in  the  Argonne  Forest  really  was. 

It  is  September  29,  1918 — memorable  because  it  marked  the  beginning  of  the  end 
for  Germany's  arrogant  hope  of  world-dominion.  The  place  is  a  small  area  of  the 
Argonne  wilderness,  typical  of  all  the  terrain  for  miles  around.  Huge  trees  tower 
protectingly  above  their  brood  of  close-grown  saplings,  branches  interlacing 
branches  overhead  until  no  patch  of  sky  is  visible  and  the  light  is  the  sickly  half- 
light  of  early  dawn. 

The  ground  hides  under  a  maze  of  trailing  vines,  prickly  bushes,  rheumatic 
tree  branches,  imbedded  in  soggy  leaves,  with  here  and  there  a  clump  of  rank  fern. 
The  undergrowth  is  so  tangled  as  to  give  the  impression  that  nature  had  gone  on 
a  debauch  and  later,  viewing  the  havoc,  in  a  moment  of  self-spite  had  added  to 
her  riotous  handiwork.  No  birds  sing.  No  living  thing  moves.  Like  the  sear 
leaves,  like  the  rotting  tree  trunks,  it  is  a  place  of  death. 

While  there  is  no  sound  here  to  relieve  the  sepulchral  silence,  a  few  hundred  yards 
to  right  and  left  a  regular,  metallic5  stuttering  noise  punctuates  the  quiet. 

Machine  guns! 

If  you  are  listening  sharply,  close  at  hand  now  there  is  a  crackling  of  twigs 
and  a  sound  as  of  branches  forced  aside.  Some  minutes  elapse  before  movement 
is  apparent,  for  one  cannot  see  beyond  twenty  yards  through  the  screen. 

Gradually  forms  emerge  into  view,  sketchy  through  the  trees,  in  outlines  of 
khaki — six  or  eight  of  them.  This  is  the  head  of  a  company,  forced  by  the  thick 
growth  to  thread  its  way  in  single  file — a  whole  company,  say,  of  ninety  men;  for 
they  have  been  advancing  four  days  since  crossing  No  Man's  Land  from  the  French 
trenches  on  September  26,  and  while  they  may  have  started  with  150,  they  are  90 
now. 


And  such  is  the  wilderness  that  the  entire  company  presents  but  the  front  of  a 
single  man! 

No  group  of  men,  however  small,  could  advance  here  in  the  "wave  formation" 
of  open  country — that  is,  on  a  lateral  line,  one  or  two  hundred  yards  wide,  with 
intervals  of  five  or  eight  yards  between  the  attackers.  Before  such  a  line  could 
proceed  fifty  yards  over  this  kind  of  ground,  it  would  be  hopelessly  broken, 
scattered  and  lost.    - 

OFFICER   HAS    HIS   WORK   CUT   OUT 

The  officer  is  the  trail-breaker,  Jacking  his  way  through  the  vines,  pushing  back 
branches  with  both  elbows,  detouring  clumps  that  defy  penetration.  At  times  he 
twists  sidewise  to  pass  between  saplings,  or  bends  to  the  waist  under  an  arch  of 
intertwined  branches.  And  always,  he  is  watching  his  compass,  keeping  the  jigger- 
ing  needle  as  nearly  fixed  as  possible  on  the  letter  "N",  which  means  he  is  leading 
north, — deeper  and  deeper  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  Boche. 

The  men  mainly  are  silent,  breathing  hard  from  the  weight  of  equipment  as  they 
yank  it  through  the  brush  that  reaches  out  like  the  tentacles  of  an  octopus  to  clutch 
at  them.  They  must  keep  close  behind  one  another,  or  even  the  single  line  will 
snap  some  place  along  its  length  and  the  remainder  will  find  themselves  casting 
about  in  the  indistinguishable  sameness  of  the  forest  for  their  comrades. 

Occasionally  an  oath  is  half-shouted,  half-repressed  as  a  doughboy  is  thrown  to 
his  face  by  a  treacherous  root.  Again,  from  the  rear,  may  come  a  petulant  cry, 
in  some  foreign  accent,  to: 

"Slow  it  down,  will  yuh!     Are  we  goin'  to  a  war — or  a  fire?" 

The  officer  turns  to  the  sergeant  behind  him  and  says  in  an  undertone: 

"Pass  back  the  word  to  that  man  to  shut  up." 

The  officer  knows  that  his  men  are  being  strained.  During  three  days,  food  has 
been  meagre,  sleep  fitful  and  unsatisfactory,  without  blankets.  His  company  has 
beaten  its  way  into  the  Forest  to  the  depth  of  a  mile  and  a  half.     There  are  no  roads 


77th  Division  Passing  Through  a  French  Village 

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Photo  Brown  Bros, 


A  One  Pound  Gun  in  Action 


over  which  ration  limbers  can  follow.  The  artillery  cannot  be  called  upon  for 
support.  Ammunition  and  food  must  be  brought  up  by  hand.  The  wounded 
must  be  carried  back  that  mile  and  a  half  over  the  same  difficult  ground,  the  same 
slippery  mud  trails  by  which  they  had  come  forward. 

Hard  though  it  be  on  his  men,  he  must  hurry,  that  officer.  The  more  because 
progress  is  slow  must  he  hurry.  Across  his  map  there  is  a  blue-pencilled  line 
indicating  a  position  to  be  reached  by  dusk — his  "objective. "  Other  units  are 
depending  upon  him  to  be  there  to  give  them  flank  support.  The  whole  division  is 
planning  to  attain  that  advanced  front,  whatever  the  obstacles  they  meet  meantime. 

Suspecting  every  stirring  leaf,  every  swaying  limb  after  four  days  of  bushwhack- 
ing, the  officer  is  peering  ahead — to  left — to  right,  when — 

"Rat  -  tat  -  tat  -  tat  -  tat  -  tat  -  tat  -  " 

Three  men  in  the  line  drop — two  mortally  hit.  The  bullets  strike  into  their 
bodies  with  a  strange  little  thump —  just  audible  to  the  officer.  Death  comes  at 
once. 

ONLY   A   KID   AFTER   ALL 

The  thitd  man  collapses,  holding  both  hands  against  his  side  and  crying  with  an 

anguish  terrible  to  hear.     He  is  a  big  fellow,  perhaps  28  years  old;  yet  these  are  the 

unexpected  words  that  he  shouts,  repeating  them  over  and  over,  as  his  first  scream 

sinks  into  a  moan: 

"Oh,  mamma,  mamma!     It  hurts,  mamma!     It  hurts!" 

It  has  not  been  necessary  for  the  officer  to  shout:  "Down!     Take  cover!" 

Behind  tree  trunks  his  men  throw  themselves,  behind  clumps  of  roots,  one  man — 

as  the  officer  notes  with  a  momentary,  irrepressible    smile — behind  a  handful  of 

ferns. 

Someone  crawls  over  to  the  wounded  man  and  applies  a  dressing  hurriedly, 

preparatory  to  pulling  him  out  of  the  range  of  fire.     Even  if  he  could  walk,  the 

sufferer  may  not  stand  erect  as  yet.     Men- have  been  hit  a  second  time  and  in  cases 

killed  while  hobbling  back  to  the  first  aid  station. 

The  officer  may  give  no  attention  to  the  dead  or  wounded  just  now.     He  has  the 

living  to  think  of.     This  is  the  business  of  war,  at  which  he  must  be  efficient  in 

order  that  as  few  of  his  followers  as  possible  may  suffer. 

w 


With  the  opening  shots  of  the  long  "burst"  from  the  machine  guns  the  officer's 
mind  has  leaped  to  a  keenness  comparable  to  the  hunt  dog's  scent.  Where  is  it? 
His  mental  torture  is  indescribable  as  his  eyes  strain  vainly  through  the  shrub  for 
some  telltale  sign.     Damn  smokeless  powder! 

From  the  sound  he  knows  the  nest  is  somewhere  within  a  45  degree  arc  to  the 
right  front.  Because  the  staccatos  of  the  explosions  have  run  into  one  another, 
he  knows  there  are  two  guns — possibly  three.  How  far  away  are  they?  He  can 
only  conjecture.  Maybe  forty  or  fifty  yards.  Nothing  in  the  world  is  more  decep- 
tive to  his  ears  and  their  judgment  of  location  than  those  explosions.  That  may  be 
because  he  is  so  eager  to  fix  their  source  accurately.  And  he  is  aware  that  the  nest 
will  be  well  camouflaged  by  masters  in  the  art  of  concealment. 

GERMAN   MACHINE    GUN   TACTICS 

After  an  expenditure  of  seventy-five  or  a  hundred  rounds  the  Germans  hold  their 
fire.  That  is  part  of  their  machine  gun  tactics.  The  longer  they  fire  the  better 
their  opponents  may  judge  their  position.  So,  confident  that  they  are  as  yet 
undiscovered,  they  will  wait  for  a  target — a  stir. 

Everything  is  silent,  motionless. 

The  officer  counters  with  anti-machine  gun  strategy. 

"Sergeant  Quinn,"  he  calls  softly  to  one  of  the  prone  figures,  "get  your  gang 
ready!     Corporal  Smith,  your  gang.   You're  in  command,  Sergeant,  till  I  get  back." 

The  Sergeant  is  put  in  charge  because  there  are  no  other  officers.  The  attack 
was  begun  with  one  Lieutenant  to  a  company. 

With  his  automatic  unholstered,  the  officer,  accompanied  by  an  orderly  starts 
crawling  toward  the  origin  of  the  sound.  He  is  going  personally  to  reconnoitre 
the  position  of  the  nest  before  he  leads  his  men  upon  it.   . 

With  his  own  movement  and  that  of  his  men,  who  are  converging  near  the  spot  he 
has  just  left,  the  guns  open  again,  as  he  has  anticipated.  He  has  hoped  for  another 
outbreak — to  guide  him.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  have  those  bullets  chirping  like  the 
quick  sweet  notes  of  the  meadow  lark  (for  it  is  thus  they  sound)  just  above  his 
helmet,  but  he  must  locate  that  position  if  his  men  are  to  attack  it  intelligently. 
Sometimes  an  unnatural  depression  of  leaves  or  high  grass  from  the  force  of  the 
explosions  in  front  of  the  muzzle,  as  if  an  electric  fan  were  blowing  them  flat,  will 
denote  the  hiding  place.  Sometimes  a  thin,  bluish  haze,  hardly  perceptible,  is 
expelled  from  the  muzzle. 

Worming  his  way  towards  the  sound,  his  helmet  pulled  well  down  on  his  forehead, 
the  officer  studies  each  bush,  each  irregularity  of  the  ground,  as  they  open  up  to  his 
view  through  the  turmoil  of  undergrowth.  The  very  air  is  nervous  with  the 
reverberations  of  the  guns.  Tiny  fern  leaves,  clipped  off  by  bullets,  flutter  slowly, 
almost  placidly,  to  the  ground.  The  officer  notices  little  white  "bites"  suddenly 
appearing  low  on  the  bark  of  trees. 

Then  he  spots  it!  That  big  bush  ahead,  a  little  to  tfc«  right, — that's  it!  His 
attention  has  been  oddly  attracted  to  it.  Leaves  do  not  turn  their  paler,  under-side 
to  the  light.  Here  there  are  many  such,  indicating  that  fresh-cut  boughs  have  been 
inserted  at  unnatural  angles  in  the  bush  to  make  its  cover  denser.  1  he  watcher 
now  sees  through  the  leaves  big  rocks  piled  a  little  too  regularly  and  a  thick  tree 
trunk  lying  flat.  Just  in  front  of  the  bush  the  forest  is  a  little  thinner,  offering 
something  approximating  a  field  of  fire.  The  forepart  of  the  gun  takes  shape, — the 
slender  muzzle  and  its  "flash  screen"  projecting  a  few  inches  out  of  the  fat,  round 

[si 


"jacket."     The  officer  notes  surrounding  objects,  so  that  he    may    not    lose    his 
find.     Maybe  he  takes  its  poskion  by  compass.     Then  he  crawls  back  to  his  men. 

WHAT   IS   THE    NATURE    OF   THE    GANG? 

When  he  told  two  of  the  non-coms  to  collect  their  gangs  he  wasn't  indulging 
in  slang.  The  gang  is  a  development  of  modern  warfare.  Numbering  from  eight 
to  twelve,  these  men  are  trained  specialists  who  have  simulated  attacks  upon 
machine  gun  positions  in  practice.  The  gang  is  an  elastic  collection  of  perhaps  two 
scouts,  an  automatic  rifleman,  with  two  ammunition  carriers,  two  or  three  bombers, 
a  rifle  grenadier  and  a  couple  of  bayonet  men.  Each  man  has  his  job.  The  bombers 
are  particularly  effective  because  rifle-fire — a  grazing  fire — is  not  of  much  avail 
against  the  protections  of  a  nest;  it  is  more  vulnerable  to  bombs  dropped  from  above. 
But  the  trees  are  serious  obstacles  to  bomb  throwing,  unless  the  missiles  can  be 
hurled  high  through  a  branchless  aperture.  The  automatic  riflemen,  sometimes 
called  a  light  machine  gunner,  can  bore  and  bore  like  a  steel  drill  on  one  spot,  till 
eventually  his  "lead"  breaks  through. 

The  officer  does  not  intend  to  rush  the  nest  frontally.  It  would  be  too  costly. 
He  will  leave  his  company  under  cover,  and  with  the  two  gangs  enfiltrate  on  both 
sides  of  the  nest  working  around  to  its  rear. 

With  minuteness  he  tells  his  non-coms  where  it  is.  "Sergeant,  you  take  their 
left — Corporal,  I'll  go  with  you  to  their  right.     Let's  go." 

One  by  one,  thus  presenting  no  collective  target,  the  men  crawl  out  along  the 
lines  of  a  "V".  As  they  draw  nearer,  the  nest  breaks  into  a  frenzy  of  fire.  A 
courageous  German  dashes  out  from  the  rear  of  the  position  so  that  he  will  be  near 
enough  to  the  attackers  to  throw  effectively  his  "potato  mashers"  or  hand  grenades, 
so  called  because  they  resemble  the  old-fashioned,  long,  wooden-handled  kitchen 
utensil. 

"Get  that  bird!"  some  one  shouts. 

For  the  first  time,  American  bullets  are  spent.  The  Boche  drops  with  an  agon- 
ized howl.  There  is  something  peculiarly  soul  curdling  about  the  cries  of  a  wounded 
Boche. 

The  automatic  rifles  get  into  action.  The  bombers  add  to  the  fire.  The  Ger- 
mans throw  out  rifle  grenades.  There  are  snatches  of  shouts  above  the  clatter  of 
musketry.  Another  long-drawn  howl  comes  from  the  nest — a  "hit"  through  their 
logs  and  corrugated  sheet  iron. 

A  bomb  drops  at  the  edge  of  the  nest.  Another  seems  to  have  exploded  right  on 
top  of  it!  Yes,  it  must  have  got  home.  Their  fire  is  weaker.  One  of  their  guns 
is  "out,"  probably. 

They've  stopped  firing  now.  Is  it  a  trick?  No — they're  fini — they're  quitting! 
For  through  the  trees  at  the  rear  two  gray-green  figures  are  darting. 

"Get  'em!" 

"There  they  go!" 

The  two  Boches  have  a  fair  start,  for  they  came  out  of  a  little  covered  trench  at 
the  rear,  leading  to  the  nest.  The  woods  are  alive  with  action  as  a  dozen  Yanks 
plunge  after  them.  One  turns,  aims  his  pistol,  fires  and  falls.  The  other,  unarmed, 
makes  to  raise  his  hands  in  "Kamerad"  attitude,  but  his  action  is  too  late. 

In  the  nest  are  two  dead  forms,  sprawled  grotesquely.  One  fellow's  mouth 
is  open,  as  if  he  were  snoring.     His  mustache  is  strangely  well  brushed.     Of  the 

[6] 


Photo  Brown  Bros. 


On  the  Firing  Line 


two  heavy  maxim  guns,  one  seems  in  good  condition.     The  other  shows  bullet 
holes. 

TIME    FLIES    IN    SUCH   A   FIGHT 

The  officer  looks  at  his  watch.  Nearly  an  hour  has  elapsed — an  hour  that 
seemed  ten  minutes.  He  takes  stock.  Four  of  his  men  have  been  killed;  six 
wounded.  Four  Germans  are  dead;  one  badly  wounded.  And  the  company  has 
been  held  up  for  an  hour. 

Through  a  German  of  his  command,  the  lieutenant  questions  the  wounded 
prisoner.  The  fellow  is  incoherent  in  moans.  Where's  the  next  nearest  nest. 
He  doesn't  know — he  swears  it — he  needs  a  doctor.  He  cannot  bear  the  pain. 
*  *  *  *  To  what  regiment  does  he  belong?  (His  epaulets  bear  the  numerals 
117.)  *  *  *  *  The  117th — but  the  doctor — the  doctor!  *  *  *  *  Well,  where  is 
his  regiment?  Are  they  holding  this  trench  ahead — here, on  this  map?  *  *  *  *  No 
he  thinks  they  moved  *  *  *  *  Are  they  in  these  laagers — the  huts  shown  in  this 


ravine 


p  *  *  *  * 


Oh,  please,  please  do  not  ask  him  to  look  at  the  map.  No,  no, 
they  are  not  in  the  huts — they  are  retreating — last  night  they  moved  north — and 
what  of  the  doctor — the  first  aid  station  ?     He  knows  he  will  die  soon . 

Reluctantly,  the  officer  details  two  men  to  carry  him  back,  because  it  means 
making  stretcher-bearers  of  combatants. 

"Come  on — let  that  junk  alone!" — to  a  group  of  doughboys  rifling  the  dead  men's 
packs  for  food.  "Grab  it,  and  get  back  to  your  squads! — Sergeant,  let's  get 
going." 

The  wounded  have  been  dressed  and  are  being  carried,  or  helped  back.  The  dead 
must  lie  for  the  present.  When  more  troops  come  up  from  the  rear  those  poor 
bodies  which  harbored  such  valiant  souls  will  be  identified  and  buried.  Just  now 
the  outfit  has  to  advance.  "And  so  they  start  forward — probably  to  repeat  the  whole 
performance  a  few  hundred  yards  farther  on. 

The  foregoing  is  a  conservative  rather  than  an  overdrawn  description  of  an 

[7] 


attack  upon  one  of  the  numerous  points  of  resistance  with  which  the  Argonne  forest 
was  pitted. 

For  fourteen  days  consecutively  the  men  of  "New  York's  Own"  pushed  ahead 
each  morning,  over  strange  treacherous  ground,  against  concrete-lined  trench 
systems,  against  nests,  "pill  boxes"  and  "strong"  points,  against  wire  belts  so  wide 
that  the  302d  Engineers  had  to  bridge  them  almost  as  if  they  were  rivers, 

Veterans  of  many  hard  campaigns  in  other  wars  might  have  been  daunted. 
The  "Liberty  Boys"  (every  one  knows  that  their  divisional  insignia  is  the  Statue 
of  Liberty) — went  forward  almost  blithely.  "Nerve"  aplenty  they  had.  Of 
"nerves,"  however,  they  were  completely  devoid,  according  to  the  admission  of  a 
German  officer  whose  men  tried  to  hold  them  back. 

PRAISE    FROM    SIR   HUBERT 

This  officer,  oddly  enough,  asserted  that  he  himself  wrote  the  famous  "surrencler- 
in-the-name-of-humanity"  note  to  Lieut.  Col.  Charles  W.  Whittlesey  and  his 
beleaguered  band.  His  name  is  Lieut.  Heinrich  Prinz,  of  the  76th  German  Di- 
vision, and  it  was  on  the  occasion  of  his  meeting  Colonel  C.  O.  Sherrill,  formerly 
Chief  of  Staff  of  the  77th  in  Coblenz,  that  he  paid  this  tribute  to  the  New  York 
doughboys. 

"Permit  me  to  compliment  you,  sir,  upon  the  morale  of  your  men.  I  wish  I 
might  pay  my  respects  personally  to  their  commander.  The  American  soldier 
seemed  absolutely  devoid  of  nerves.  His  buoyancy  had  a  most  depressing  effect 
upon  our  men." 

Here  is  an  officer  of  the  old  militaristic  school,  a  judge  of  fighting  men,  lauding — 
whom?  Lauding  the  milkman,  who  used  to  serve  you  while  you  slept;  the  subway 
guard,  whose  knowledge  of  explosives  was  confined  once  to  the  language  of  over- 
crowded passengers;  the  taxi-driver  whom  you  excoriated  for  keeping  you  waiting. 
Perhaps  that  young  officer  who  attacked  the  nest  was  the  budding  lawyer  to  whom 
you  gave  that  "worthless  account"  for  collection — the  one  that  was  collected. 
That  sergeant,  who  was  a  gang  leader  in  the  forest,  may  have  been  a  sallow-cheeked 
draughtsman;  the  corporal,  an  enterprising  proprietor  of  an  east-side  fruit  stand. 

Such  were  the  men  who  came  to  Camp  Upton,  Long  Island,  in  September,  1917. 
Ten  thousand  acres  of  virgin  timberland  were  suddenly  turned  into  what  looked  like 
a  "boom  town."  Indeed,  there  may  have  been  something  remotely  prophetic  of 
their  later  conquest  of  the  Argonne  in  their  earlier  conquest  of  Yaphank. 

Weeks  were  spent  in  digging  up  stumps  before  drill  grounds  were  available  for  the 
embryonic  soldiers  who  were  drafted — there  is  no  sinister  aspect  to  that  word  today! 
— under  the  Selective  Service  Law  of  June  15,  1917. 

After  a  four  months'  training  programme,  under  the  command  of  the  late  Major- 
General  J.  Franklin  Bell,  the  first  units  began  sailing  late  in  March,  191 8. 

Because  of  physical  failing  due  to  age,  General  Bell  had  to  relinquish  command  of 
the  division,  which  was  transferred  to  Brig.-Gen.  Evan  M.  Johnson,  of  the  154th 
Brigade. 

MAKE-UP   OF   THE    77TH   DIVISION 

Regiments  and  brigades  and  their  relationship  being -far  from  self-explanatory 
to  the  non-military  reader,  it  may  be  well  to  list  here  for  future  reference  the  units 
that  comprised  the  77th: 

[8] 


77th  Division  Headquarters  and  Headquarters  Troop 


153rd  Infantry  Brigade 

Consisting  of 

305th  Infantry  Regiment 
306th  Infantry  Regiment 

154th  Infantry  Brigade 

Consisting  of 

307th  Infantry  Regiment 
308th  Infantry  Regiment 


152nd  Field  Artillery  Brigade 

Consisting  of 
304th  Field  Artillery  Regiment 
305th  Field  Artillery  Regiment 
306th  Field  Artillery  Regiment 
304th  Machine  Gun  Battalion 
305th  Machine  Gun  Battalion 
306th  Machine  Gun  Battalion 
302nd  Engineer  Regiment 
302nd  Field  Signal  Battalion 
302nd  Trench  Mortar  Battery 
302nd  Ammunition  Train 
302nd  Ambulance  Company 
302nd  Military  Police 


Keeping  in  mind  that  four  companies,  each  having  250  men,  constitute  a  bat- 
talion; that  three  battalions,  in  addition  to  a  headquarters  and  a  supply  company, 
make  a  regiment,  and  that  two  regiments  form  a  brigade,  the  civilian  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  accounting  for  the  27,000  men  that  are  needed  to  fill  up  a  division.  Yet, 
despite  all  this  array  of  numerical  force  in  a  combat  division,  the  War  Department 
classified  less  than  50  per  cent,  of  the  27,000,  or  exactly  12,250  men,  as  ''rifles," 
i.  e.,  actual  front  line  fighting  men.  This  indicates  how  large  a  force  is  needed 
behind  the  firing  line  to  maintain  supplies  and  support  for  the  man  with  the  rifle. 

THE    DIVISION    STARTS    FOR    "OVER   THERE" 

Nearly  the  whole  month  of  April,  1918,  was  required  to  transport  the  77th  from 
Upton  to  Calais,  France.  The  infantry  traveled  by  way  of  Halifax,  Liverpool, 
Dover  and  thence  over  the  channel;  the  artillery  sailed  direct  from  New  York  to 
Brest,  entraining  there  for  Bordeaux,  where  they  spent  a  month  mastering  the 
French  "75's,"  a  light  three-inch  field  piece,  and  the  "155's,"  known  as  the 
"heavies."  The  "75's"  threw  a  projectile  weighing  about  20  pounds;  the  shell  of 
the  "155V  weighed  96  pounds. 


Photo  Brown   Bros. 


A  Trench  Mortar  Battery  Ready  to  Fire 

[9] 


May  was  given  over  to  training  in  Flanders  with  the  British  behind  Ypres  and 
Mount  Kemmel.  American  ordnance  was  changed  for  British.  American  dough- 
boys attended  British  schools;  all  indications  pointed  to  permanent  service  for  the 
77th  on  the  British  front. 

The  154th  Infantry  Brigade  was  even  assigned  to  duty  as  reserves  for  the  British 
behind  Arras,  having  been  shifted  from  the  training  area  near  St.  Omer,  southwest 
to  the  Somme  country,  where  a  German  drive  was  then  anticipated. 

After  about  six  weeks  of  training  with  the  British,  plans  were  changed  back  at 
G.  H.  Q.  (General  Headquarters) — where  moving  a  red-topped  pin  a  few  inches 
on  a  map  means  moving  tens  of  thousands  of  men.  In  this  case  the  movement 
by  train  and  on  foot  was  to  consume  eleven  days,  in  which  time  the  77th,  not  sure 
whether  they  were  sight-seers  or  scrappers,  but,  knowing  that  they  were  confirmed 
souvenir-seekers,  traveled  virtually  the  whole  length  of  the  front  to  Lorraine. 

From  now  on  the  77th  was  to  create  and  live  history.  Already  it  had  the  dis- 
tinction of  being  the  first  National  Army  Division  in  France. 

On  the  night  of  June  17,  191 8,  the  New  Yorkers  moved  into  the  front  line  in  the 
Baccarat  sector,  relieving  the  42d,  or  Rainbow  Division.  It  was  the  first  time  an 
organization  composed  of  citizen-soldiers  took  over  and  held  a  sector  of  front  line 
trenches — the  first  time  the  victorious  German  was  faced  by  the  Selective  Service 
man,  on  whom  the  eyes  of  the  Allies,  indeed,  of  the  world,  were  focussed.  The  war 
was  to  be  won  by  a  preponderance  of  man-power.  And  it  was  the  National  Army 
alone  that  could  supply  the  requisite  numbers  for  victory. 

The  division  front  extended  from  Badonviller,  on  the  south,  to  Herbeviiler  on  the 
north,  the  whole  slightly  east  of  Luneville. 

The  relief  of  the  420"  was  successfully  effected  without  a  casualty,  the  61  st 
French  Division  remaining  in  part  of  the  line  to  lend  their  aid  should  the  enemy 
*'start  anything"  at  this  rather  critical  period  of  troop  change. 

RELIEF    IS    NO    SIMPLE    UNDERTAKING 

The  procedure  of  a  relief  is  considerably  more  complex  than  the  word  itself 
denotes.     It  is  more  than  the  mere  replacing  of  one  body  of  troops  by  another. 

Officers  of  the  77th  preceded  their  men  into  the  trenches  by  twenty-four  hours 
to  familiarize  themselves  with  the  territory,  the  dugouts,  the  peculiarities  of  the 
trench  system,  and  to  learn  from  the  outgoing  officers  of  the  42d  the  local  customs 
of  the  enemy  as  to  patrols,  snipers,  etc.  Each  company  had  allotted  to  it  a  certain 
subsector,  which  in  turn  was  split  up  into  platoon  fronts.  In  order  that  the  various 
platoons  might  be  led  without  confusion  to  their  respective  positions,  non-com- 
missioned officers  went  forward  with  the  officers  to  guide  the  units  into  their  strange 
environs. 

Liaison,  or  the  various  methods  of  communication,  by  phone,  runners,  etc., 
between  flanks  and  rear,  had  to  be  prearranged;  trench  stores,  including  bombs, 
small  arms  ammunition,  rifle  grenades,  fireworks,  had  to  be  turned  over  from  the 
outgoing  to  the  incoming  units,  and  receipts  for  the  same  given  and  taken  in  much 
the  manner  of  a  commercial  transaction. 

And  all  this  was  done  under  cover  of  night,  without  even  the  flare  of  a  match 
or  the  flash  of  a  torch  to  facilitate  operations. 

It  must  appear  that  on  an  active  front  the  time  of  relief  was  an  ideal  moment 
for  attack,  or,  at  least,  heavy  artillery  activity. 

[10] 


The  Baccarat  sector  had  been  quiet  almost  since  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  and 
both  French  and  Germans  used  it  as  a  sort  of  rest  area  for  troops  worn  out  by 
strenuous  service  elsewhere. 

With  the  advent  of  the  National  Army  in  the  line,  the  enemy's  curiosity  could 
not  bide  the  completion  of  the  relief,  which  took  about  ten  days.  Before  all  the 
New  Yorkers  had  "gone  in"  the  enemy  sent  over  a  crack  raiding  battalion  of  the 
picked  "Hindenburg  circus"  detachment. 

The  "Hindenburg  circus"  was  composed  of  selected  fighters  who  were  shifted 
from  sector  to  sector  for  the  sole  purpose  of  raiding.  Nearly  every  man  of  them 
wore  the  Iron  Cross,  and  because  of  their  efficiency  at  killing  and  taking  prisoners 
for  the  purpose  of  identifying  units  opposing  the  Germans,  they  were  accorded 
special  privileges  and  pay,  at  no  time  being  called  to  the  drudgery  of  merely  holding 
the  line.     They  were  the  gentlemen  road  agents  of  Kultur,  as  it  were. 

The  Germans  attached  considerable  importance,  it  would  seem,  to  the  examina- 
tion and  appraisement  of  the  fighting  qualities  of  the  77th  when  they  sent  their 
elite  raiders  down  to  the  tranquil  Baccarat  front.  That  they  knew  the  National 
Army  had  safely  evaded  their  vaunted  submarine  barrier,  and  were  actually  leaning 
over  the  front  counter  of  trench  warfare,  ready  for  business,  is  indubitable.  For 
toward  the  end  of  the  relief  one  of  their  squat  observation  balloons  floated  a  pennant 
on  which  were  painted  the  words: 

Goodby  42nd— Welcome  77  th 

The  Germans  had  spies  in  Lorraine.  Little  wonder  at  that,  since  during  so  many 
years  they  had  dominated  Alsace-Lorraine,  whose  border  was  just  opposite  the 
77th's  front.  Civilians  lived  within  range  of  the  long  distance  artillery  and  even 
came  with  passes  into  the  front  line  villages  to  pluck  vegetables  from  their  truck 
gardens.  The  raid  of  June  24th  therefore  was  not  without  the  collusion  of  inform- 
ants inside  the  77th's  lines. 

Three  hours  after  the  attack,  almost  before  the  wounded  had  been  gathered 
into  the  first  aid  posts,  the  people  of  New  York  glanced  across  their  breakfast  coffee 
to  this  bulletin  on  the  first  page  of  their  newspapers  (this  occurred  in  the  hopeful 
days  when  the  German  wireless  was  as  prompt  and  communicative  as  a  press 
agent): 

Berlin  (via  London)  June  24 — German  troops,  in  an  attack  on  trenches  in 
the  Badonviller  region  (southeast  of  Luneville),  occupied  by  French  and 
Americans,  inflicted  heavy  losses  and  brought  back  prisoners,  according  to  the 
official  communication  from  headquarters  today.     The  bulletin  reads: 

East  of  Badonviller  shock  troops  penetrated  the  Franco-American  trenches 
and  inflicted  heavy  losses.     They  brought  back  forty  prisoners. 

The  raid,  which  occurred  at  3:30  A.  M.,  was  preceded  by  an  artillery  preparation 
unequalled  by  anything  the  French  had  ever  known  on  that  front. 

Box  barrages  were  put  down  at  two  points — Neuviller,  where  the  307th  was 
holding,  and  Badonviller,  the  3o8th's  front.  A  box  barrage  is  a  three-sided  curtain 
of  artillery  fire,  each  side  to  a  depth  of  about  150  yards,  and  so  dense  as  almost  to 
defy  penetration.  It  aims  at  preventing  reinforcements  from  the  rear  joining  the 
hemmed-in  troops.  The  fourth  side  is  the  front  line  itself,  which  is  being  attacked. 
Before  the  raiders  enter  the  trench  objective,  they  have  timed  their  approach  so 
that  a  preliminary  barrage,  hammering  upon  the  section  of  trench  they  are  to  pene- 

in] 


trate,  may  have  lifted.  The  whole  operation  is  like  an  elaborate  man-trap  in  which 
the  defenders,  outnumbered  and  unaided,  are  beaten  before  it  snaps  its  jaws  upon 
them. 

FIRST  ACTUAL  TOUCH  WITH  THE    BOCHE 

Some  importance  should  be  attached  to  this  raid  because  it  was  the  first  hand-to- 
hand  clash  of  the  National  Army  man  and  the  Boche.  With  an  enemy  battalion 
opposing  it  and  a  French  platoon  on  its  right  wiped  out,  a  single  platoon  of  Yanks 
at  Badonviller  showed  the  German  Intelligence  Office  that  Americans  knew  how 
to  take  bitter  medicine — and  in  the  taking  administer  a  little  themselves.  The 
German  communique  omitted  mention  of  their  own  losses.  And  they  were  not 
light. 

The  raided  platoon,  of  Company  C,  308th,  was  commanded  by  Lieut.  John  V. 
Flood,  a  former  New  York  lawyer  and  a  graduate  of  the  first  Plattsburg  training 
camp.     Only  six  men  of  the  platoon  of  forty-eight  came  through  unhurt. 

Out  of  admiration  for  the  stubborn,  yet  hopeless  fight  these  men  put  up,  the 
French  awarded  the  Croix  de  Guerre  to  the  whole  platoon.  Their  commander  was 
honored  in  addition  with  the  D.  S.  C. 

Here  follows  his  description  of  the  raid,  in  the  simple,  concise  language  of  the 
soldier: 

"My  recollection  of  the  C.  Gs.  (Combat  Groups)  on  that  sector  is  that  C.  G.  9 
was  held  by  a  French  platoon  of  about  28  men.  I  held  C.  G.  10  with  48  men  and 
C.  G.  11  was  garrisoned  by  about  15  Frenchmen.  At  2.30  A.  M.  I  ordered  'stand- 
to'  and  went  up  and  down  the  line  once  to  see  that  every  man  was  in  position. 
I  finished  with  this  inspection  at  about  2.55.  I  was  sitting  in  my  dugout,  with  my 
hands  lying  listlessly  on  the  table  in  front  of  me,  when  exactly  at  3  o'clock  there 
was  a  terrific  explosion,  which  shook  the  old  dugout.  My  'non-coms'  immediately 
gave  the  gas  alarm.  It  seemed  to  me  that  for  about  ten  minutes  the  Boche  sent 
over  gas  shells,  when  they  changed  to  H.  E.  (high  explosive)  and  shrapnel. 

"Of  course,  all  the  men  except  the  sentries  took  to  the  dugouts.  I  decided,  how- 
ever, that  it  was  more  dangerous  in  them  than  out  of  them,  so  I  ordered  all  out  to 
their  positions,  and  made  them  lie  flat  in  the  bottom  of  the  trenches,  with  the 
sentries  standing  watch. 

THE    COMMANDER'S   TRIBUTE   TO    BRAVERY 

"The  barrage  lasted  about  twenty  minutes  longer,  when  the  shells  suddenly 
stopped  dropping  on  us  and  we  could  hear  them  going  over  our  heads.  It  was  at 
this  point  that  the  Hun  appeared  and  the  men  started  to  greet  him.  One  man, 
especially,  Corporal  Patrick  Hendricks,  who  was  given  the  D.  S.  C,  and  after- 
wards killed  in  action,  did  wonderful  work  with  his  automatic  rifle  and  accounted 
for  a  good  many  of  the  Germans. 

"I  think  we  would  have  been  all  right  if  they  had  attacked  us  only  on  the  front, 
but  evidently  the  Frenchmen  on  my  right  were  pretty  well  torn  up.  The  Germans 
must  have  gotten  in  on  them  first  and  then  continued  against  my  right  flank.  Of 
course,  I  realized  that  we  were  done  for,  as  I  could  see  that  they  greatly  outnum- 
bered us.     But  we  were  there  to  hold  the  position  to  the  last  man.     We  did. 

"Finally,  they  managed  to  get  into  the  trenches  with  us,  and  then  the  thing  had 
become  a  hand-to-hand  fight — kicking,  biting,  stabbing,  scratching,  anything  to 
get  the  other  fellow  first.     I  found  myself  in  a  turn  in  a  trench  with  my  sergeant, 

[12] 


Frank  Wagner,  and  my  runner,  Private  Dietrich,  behind  me.  Six  of  the  Boches 
started  down  the  trench  towards  us,  waving  their  'potato  mashers.' 

"I  shot  the  first  two,  but  the  third  one,  in  the  meantime,  threw  his  grenade. 
As  .he  did,  I  jumped  around  the  turn  and  yelled  to  the  others,'  Look  out!'  The 
grenade  hit  the  wall  of  the  trench  behind  me  and  dropped  between  my  feet.  I 
looked  down,  saw  it  and  jumped,  drawing  both  legs  up  under  me.  At  that  moment 
it  exploded  and  tore  off  the  right  foot  about  six  inches  below  the  knee,  the  leather 
of  my  shoe  holding  the  foot  on.     On  both  legs  it  cut  me  up  pretty  well. 

"Fragments  of  the  same  grenade  hit  Wagner  in  the  neck  and  knee,  and  Dietrich 
in  the  arm  and  foot.  The  remaining  four  Germans  rushed  on  us  then,  and  as  we 
lay  stretched  out,  went  through  our  clothes,  taking  everything  we  had.  While 
they  were  at  it  a  little  Italian,  Racco  Rocco,  came  up  the  other  end  of  the  trench 
and  started  after  the  four  of  them  with  his  bayonet.  One  of  them  threw  a  grenade, 
which  exploded  under  him.     He  died  a  few  days  later. 

"The  fighting  kept  up  a  little  while  longer  when  the  Huns  evidently  thought 
help  was  coming  up  to  us,  because  they  suddenly  became  greatly  excited  and 
started  back  with  their  booty  and  prisoners. 

"As  nearly  as  I  can  make  out,  we  had  14  killed,  16  wounded,  4  of  whom  died,  and 
12  taken  prisoners,  one  of  whom  died,  and  nearly  all  severely  wounded.  The  men 
who  fought  exceedingly  well  were  Sergeant  Wagner,  Maroney  (both  D.  S.  C. 
men)  and  Herold  (died  of  wounds);  Corporal  McKee  (died  of  wounds),  Higgins, 
Hendricks,  (D.  S.  C.)  and  Privates  Dietrich,  John  Sullivan,  Patrick  Sullivan  and 
Rocco." 

FIRST   REAL   TASTE    OF    POISON   GAS 

Historical  records  in  the  office  of  the  Chief  of  Staff  at  Washington  state  that  dur- 
ing the  raid  there  was  "great  activity  on  the  part  of  enemy  artillery,  3,000  shells, 
210  mm.  size,  split  between  high  explosives,  shrapnel,  mustard  and  phosgene  gas, 
having  been  sent  over  between  3  and  7  A.  M." 

It  was  on  that  morning  that  the  77th  had  its  first  real  taste  of  poison  gas.  False 
alarms,  inevitable  among  green  troops,  had  been  sounded  time  and  again  pre- 
viously, but  this  time  there  was  no  doubting  that  the  cry  of  "Wolf!"  was  genuine. 
The  New  Yorkers  evidenced  the  value  of  their  gas  discipline,  for  although  phosgene 
and  mustard  gas  was  poured  in  upon  five  or  six  villages  only  180  casualties  resulted. 

The  Germans  used  three  kinds  of  gas  in  major  quantity — green,  blue  and  yellow 
cross  shells,  taking  their  name  from  the  color  of  the  cross  painted  on  their  sides. 

Green  cross  was  an  asphyxiant  containing  phosgene,  and  a  single  deep  inhalation 
of  it  in  high  concentrations  could  cause  death.  One  of  the  cooks  of  Company  B, 
308th,  died  from  phosgene  gassing,  because  the  elastic  bands  on  the  facepiece  of 
his  mask  became  entangled  over  the  mouthpiece,  and  he  could  not  adjust  it  quickly 
enough.  It  was  only  a  difference  of  a  second  or  two — the  difference  between 
breath  and  death. 

Blue  cross,  an  arsenic  compound,  causing  sneezing,  headache  and  nausea,  was 
used  mainly  for  harrassing.  It  rarely  produced  more  than  temporary  discomfort, 
although  one  of  its  advantages,  from  the  enemy's  point  of  view,  lay  in  the  fact  that 
it  could  be  mixed  with  shrapnel  or  high  explosive  in  the  same  shell.  Its  quick 
detection  was  thus  more  difficult,  for  most  gas  shells,  carrying  only  a  small  explosive 
charge,  could  be  identified  by  the  muffled  sound  of  their  burst,  or  by  a  peculiar, 
wabbling  whistle,  as  they  somersaulted  through  the  air,  due  to  the  shifting  of  the 
liquid  inside. 

[13] 


And  a  word  about  mustard  gas  or  yellow  cross,  perhaps  more  generally  familiar 
to  and  misunderstood  by  the  civilian  than  any  other.  Mustard  gas  was  Jerry's 
chef  d'oeuvre.  It  had  a  threefold  sting.  If  you  defeated  its  lachrymatory  and 
pulmonary  "drives"  by  prompt  adjustment  and  prolonged  wear  of  the  mask,  it 
still  had  a  reserve  barrage  to  put  down  through  your  clothing  upon  your  skin, 
especially  moist  parts. 

Its  action  was  more  mechanical  than  chemical;  it  was  corrosive,  or  blistering, 
like  a  flame.  And  its  persistence  was  a  matter  to  inspire  picturesque  vocabularies 
to  matchless  heights.  Its  vapors  would  cling  in  the  atmosphere  for  periods  ranging 
from  twenty-four  hours  to  seventy-two  hours  after  a  "shoot,"  whereas  chlorine  or 
phosgene  would  be  dissipated  in  from  one  to  four  hours. 

Not  more  than  5  or  6  per  cent.,  however,  of  all  mustard  gas  casualties  became 
fatalities.  Perhaps  15  or  20  per  cent,  were  severe,  confining  victims  to  the  hospi- 
tals for  three  weeks — or  three  months.  Skin  burns,  against  which  the  mask  could 
not  protect,  of  course,  were  rarely  fatal  unless  half  or  more  of  the  body  had  been 
affected. 

Mustard's  forte  consisted  in  filling  the  hospitals  rather  than  the  cemeteries.  It 
was  tactically  effective  because  it  took  combatants  out  of  the  line.  One  day 
sixty-seven  Tommies  made  their  inevitable  tea  with  water,  which  was  ever  elusive 
in  the  line,  taken  from  a  mustard  gas  shell  crater.  Sixty-six  were  gassed. 
Before  tea  was  served  the  sixty-seventh  had  been  sent  on  a  detail. 

NOVICE    FIGHTERS    LEARN   THE    GAME 

For  the  novice  fighters  of  the  77th,  the  Lorraine  front  offered  many  practical 
lessons  other  than  defensive  measures  against  gas.  Almost  nightly,  patrols  were 
sent  out  into  a  spacious  No  Man's  Land  to  examine  the  enemy's  wire,  to  lie  in 
ambush  for  his  patrols,  or  to  inspect  his  front  line  trench,  which  showed  disrepair  in 
numerous  places  and  was  manned  only  by  small  scattered  groups. 

With  similar  "petty  posts,"  as  they  were  called,  each  consisting  of  about  a  squad 
of  men,  the  New  Yorkers  held  their  own  firing  trench.  Not  infrequently,  while  a 
patrol  of  Yanks,  with  automatics,  trench-knives  and  bombs  ready  for  action, 
might  be  groping  noiselessly  under  the  indifferent  stars  along  a  stretch  of  deserted 
enemy  trench,  a  patrol  of  Boches  would  be  paying  return  compliments  in  the  Yankee 
trench.  The  fact  of  their  visit  would  be  apparent  the  following  morning  from  an 
overturned  bench,  perhaps,  in  an  unused  observation  post,  or  an  unexploded 
"potato  masher"  that  had  slipped  its  moorings  from  a  German's  belt. 

And  of  a  score  of  such  mutual  visits  the  total  of  casualties  on  both  sides  would 
be — nil.  Oh,  it  was  beaucoup  bon,  or  to  translate  freely,  pretty  soft — was  the 
"battle  of  Baccarat"  by  comparison  with  later  experiences. 

Graduated  from  trench  warfare  after  a  course  lasting  forty-five  days — from  June 
17  to  August  2 — the  77th  was  thereafter  to  engage,  exclusively  and  continuously, 
in  open  warfare  right  up  to  the  armistice. 

ON   THROUGH    CHATEAU   THIERRY   TO   THE    VESLE 

On  the  latter  date,  the  37th  Division,  of  the  Ohio  National  Guard,  "took  over" 
from  the  Liberty  Division.  After  three  days  on  the  hike,  the  New  Yorkers  en- 
entrained  for — they  knew  not  where.  With  air  bombers  overhead  at  one  time, 
dropping  their  "iron  rations"  inaccurately,  nearly  a  day  and  a  night  were  spent 
travelling  toward  Paris  in  foul-smelling  French  box-cars.     In  the  vicinity  of  Coul- 

[14] 


ommiers,  thirty-five  miles  east  of  the  French  capital,  the  division  was  transferred 
from  trains  to  French  motor  trucks,  in  an  endless  string  of  which  the  New  Yorkers 
headed  north  through  Chateau  Thierry  for  the  Vesle. 

The  Chateau  Thierry  drive  of  mid-July  had  spent  itself  and  fresh  troops  were 
sorely  needed  to  take  up  "the  torch  from  failing  hands."  At  the  cost  of  complete 
devastation  to  all  the  countryside,  the  Marne  and  Ourcq  Rivers  had  been  wrested 
from  the  Boche.     He  was  now  making  a  stand — a  grim  one — on  the  Vesle  river. 

Observation  baloons  were  being  shot  down  by  enemy  avions  almost  overhead 
as  the  men  of  the  77th  ended,  at  Fere-en-Tardenois,  an  eight-hour  ride  through 
crumbled  villages  over  shell-marred  roads.  Fierce  fighting  had  left  its  black, 
malodorous  imprint  everywhere.  In  the  Nesles  Wood  an  officer  of  the  77th, 
standing  under  a  tree,  heard  a  drip — drip — drip — on  the  leaves  near  his  feet. 
The  weather,  remarkably  enough,  had  been  dry.  He  looked  aloft.  Sprawled 
across  a  fork  of  the  branches  was  what  had  been  a  Boche  sniper. 

On  the  night  of  August  11,  191 8,  the  First  and  Third  Battalions  of  the  305th 
Infantry  relieved  the  depleted  4th  American  Division  and  the  62d  French  on  a  front 
of  nearly  four  miles,  extending  from  Mont  Notre  Dame  to,  but  exclusive  of,  Fismes, 
along  the  Vesle.  And  for  four  days,  be  it  recorded  to  the  credit  of  the  305th, 
that  regiment  held  unaided  a  position  previously  occupied  by  two  divisions. 

No  conception  of  the  fighting  on  the  Vesle  is  adequate  without  an  understanding 
of  the  difficult  nature  of  the  ground.  Dignified  with  the  name  of  a  river,  the  Vesle 
was  really  a  thirty-five  foot  sinuous  stream,  not  much  deeper  than  ten  or  twelve 
feet,  but  with  sheer  banks,  in  places  five  feet  high.  Through  a  flat-bottomed 
valley  the  stream's  path  kept  company  with  a  standard  gauge  railroad  and  the 
main  Rheims-Soissons  road. 

The  Germans  occupied  dominating  ground  on  the  northern  ridge  at  the  foot  of 
which  the  77th  held  an  indefinite  line  along  the  river,  north  of  it  at  two  points, 
and  at  two  other  points  south  of  it.  Such  was  the  vantage  ground  of  the  Boches 
that  from  their  heights  they  actually  depressed  the  muzzles  of  their  light  artillery 
to  fire  into  the  American  positions.  The  village  of  Bazoches  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  enemy.  St.  Thibaut,  south  of  the  river,  was  Yankee  territory.  On  the  eastern 
brigade  sector — the  I54th's — Ville  Savoye  served  as  the  front-line  battalion's  P.  C. 
(post  of  command).  In  the  rear,  Chery  Chartreuve,  La  Pres,  La  Tuillerie,  and 
Chartreuve  Farms,  Ferme  des  Dames  and  Mareuil-en-Dole  were  various  regimental 
and  brigade  headquarters,  the  division  P.  C.  being  the  last-named  place. 

FUNKHOLES    CHANGE    HANDS 

Over  all  these  villages  hostile  artillery  rained  its  high  explosive,  shrapnel  and 
gas  from  the  heights  opposite.  Air  bombers  "laid  eggs"  on  the  villages.  Aviator- 
machine  gunners  flew  along  the  lines  of  the  302d  ammunition  and  ration  limbers. 
The  enemy  artillery  even  used  Austrian  high-velocity  field  pieces  for  sniping. 
Most  of  the  roads  were  under  direct  observation,  and  a  single  pedestrian  or  horse- 
man would  draw  artillery  fire. 

In  the  hazy  front  line  there  were  no  trenches.  No  Man's  Land — including,  at 
first,  the  Devil's  Castle  and  the  Tannery — was  bounded  vaguely  by  the  varying 
successes  and  failures  of  raids  and  counter-attacks.  What  was  a  Boche  funkhole 
one  night  was  a  Yank's  the  following  night. 

Funkholes  are  the  trenches  of  open  warfare — irregular  lines  of  disconnected  nooks 
in  the  ground  dug  by  the  doughboy  individually,  or  with  his  "buddy,"  and  just  big 

[15] 


enough,  accordingly,  to  hold  one  or  two  of  them.  Everyone  has  read  of  "digging 
in."  Funkholes  are  the  result  of  it.  And  their  name  has  its  origin  in  a  favorite 
British  term — funk,  or  fear.  Now,  not  to  side  with  the  polite  war  correspondents 
who  prefer  the  word  "foxhole,"  there's  no  denying  that  the  average  intelligent 
human  being  lacks  some  of  the  poise  of  the  drawing  room  when  the  blithe  machine 
gun  bullet,  the  humming  bit  of  shrapnel  or  the  swift  shell  fragment  is  zipping  close 
by.     And  it  is  at  such  times,  ordinarily,  that  funkholes  are  dug. 

In  common,  frankness,  therefore,  it  is  only  right  to  call  a  spade — a  funkhole; 
for  under  stress  of  heavy  fire,  a  spade  plus  a  few  hectic  minutes  of  digging  equals 
a  2x3x3  foot  funkhole. 

A  German  spade  is  preferable,  as  its  spoon  is  more  commodious  than  the  U.  S.  A. 
regulation  pack  shovel.  And  many  New  Yorkers  tossed  away  their  "sea  shore" 
equipment  for  the  abandoned  Boche  subway  implement,  going  into  the  fight  with 
the  alien  shovel  in  one  hand  and  a  rifle  in  the  other. 

The  northern  bank  of  the  Vesle  railroad  cut  is  still  pock-marked,  probably,  with 
scores  of  funkholes.  It  was  along  this  track  that  many  clashes  occurred.  When 
the  enemy  was  forced  back  bodies  of  Germans  and  Americans  were  found  stretched 
side  by  side  in  the  only  comradeship  there  could  have  been  between  them — that  of 
death.  One  lad  in  khaki  had  fallen  in  such  wise  that  his  head  was  pillowed  on  his 
hands,  with  his  forearms  resting  evenly  along  one  of  the  rails,  as  if  he  were  soul- 
wearied  of  it  all  and  waited  a  more  merciful  end  from  some  phantom  locomotive. 

The  most  violent  death,  indeed,  must  have  been  grateful  compared  with  the 
awful  torture  of  incineration  in  the  flames  of  the  liquid  fire  thrower.  It  was  here 
that  the  77th  had  its  first  encounter  with  that  refined  contrivance  of  the  bellicose 
Teuton  mind.  A  detachment  from  two  companies  of  the  308th  were  assaulted  with 
fiammenwerfers  on  the  night  of  August  22,  1918. 

Imagine  a  stream  of  blood-red  flame,  about  five  feet  in  diameter,  spurting  with 
a  roar  for  thirty  yards  from  its  nozzle;  add  to  this  the  vicious  chatter  of  machine 
guns,  the  crash  of  grenades,  the  gleam  of  bayonets  in  the  glare,  and  you  have  an 
idea  of  the  inferno  in  which  the  Yanks  fought  that  night.  Yet  when  the  flame 
throwers  had  burned  themselves  out  shortly — for  the  portable  shoulder  tanks  do 
not  hold  much  oil — men  of  the  308th  counter-attacked  and  took  some  of  the  enemy 
prisoners.    At  such  moments  it  requires  man-sized  restraint  not  to  kill  in  cold  blood. 

What  more  fitting  name  could  have  been  chosen  for  this  valley  where  Satan  him- 
self had  his  abode  in  the  Chateau  du  Diable,  than  "The  Hell  Hole  of  the  Vesle"  ? 
Witness  how  life  was  burnt  out  there  in  that  furnace  of  withering  fire: 

Only  two  officers  out  of  twenty-six  in  the  Third  Battalion  of  the  305th  were 
left  for  duty  after  that  unit  had  been  in  the  line  for  twenty-four  hours. 

In  Ville  Savoye  the  major  of  the  Second  Battalion,  308th,  practically  his  entire 
staff"  and  all  of  Company  H,  excepting  two  men,  were  severely  gassed. 

In  the  same  village  the  first  aid  post  was  set  on  fire  while  crowded  with  wounded, 
but  the  blaze  was  extinguished  before  gaining  much  headway  by  a  medical  officer 
and  a  private  of  his  detachment,  both  of  whom  tore  off  their  gas  masks  to  fight  the 
flames — and  left  off  the  masks  the  better  to  treat  the  accumulating  sufferers.  In 
the  end  they  were  gassed,  themselves,  of  course. 

On  the  night  of  August  21,  while  preparations  for  a  relief  were  under  way,  a 
single  shell  killed  four  officers  and  two  non-coms,  and  wounded  others,  at  the 
mouth  of  a  natural  cave  that  was  being  used  as  a  dugout. 

One  day  an  officer  was  calling  out  final  instructions  to  a  runner  about  to  set  out 

[16] 


from  a  battalion  P.  C.  when  a  "whizzbang"  almost  decapitated  the  runner,  as  they 
talked. 

Another  shell  landed  squarely  in  a  funkhole  in  which  someone  recollected  having 
seen  an  artillery  liaison  officer.  Was  the  witness  sure  there  had  been  but  one  officer 
there?  What  of  his  comrade  from  the  artillery  who  had  come  to  relieve  him? 
The  blackened  ground  was  examined,  jagged  pieces  of  flesh  were  pushed  aside  and 
it  was  found  that  both  officers  had  been  together.    Three  hands  were  unearthed. 

VESLE  PROPERLY  NAMED — "HELL  HOLE" 

Such  was  the  Vesle — "the  Hell  Hole." 

The  instances  cited  could  be  thrice  multiplied  and  still  the  story  of  individual 
suffering  and  collective  valor  would  have  been  left  untold.  And  operations  were 
not  confined  to  a  small  scale.  A  night  raid,  on  August  27,  was  directed  against 
Bazoches,  which,  with  its  chateau,  was  a  formidable  barrier  to  an  advance.  -Com- 
pany E,  supported  by  Company  G,  of  the  306th  was  to  work  its  way  into  the  town 
from  three  points  accompanied  by  men  of  the  302nd  Engineers,  who  were  to  mine 
and  demolish  the  chateau  machine-gun  post. 

Just  as  a  whole  platoon  of  Company  B  of  the  308th  had  disappeared  a  few  days 
before  in  an  advance  on  the  Tannery,  so  two  platoons,  in  this  assault  dropped 
mysteriously  out  of  existence  upon  entering  Bazoches  behind  the  artillery  prepara- 
tion. 

The  flame  thrower  had  been  brought  into  use  again,  and  it  may  be  that  the  ill- 
starred  platoons  perished  thus.  Charred  bodies  were  found  later.  They  could 
not  be  identified. 

A  third  platoon  made  progress  into  the*  town  and  dug  in  along  the  railroad 
tracks,  but  after  two  hours  was  driven  from  its  position  by  fire  from  three  sides. 
Only  four  men  and  the  platoon  commander  reported  back  to  battalion  headquarters. 
The  fourth  platoon  accomplished  its  mission,  passing  through  debris-cluttered 
streets  and  hurling  hand  grenades  into  the  houses  and  cellars,  but,  lacking  liaison 
with  the  other  three  platoons,  finally  withdrew. 

The  Boche,  to  sum  it  up,  had  been  encountered  in  unexpected  numbers.  His 
machine  gun  posts  were  as  numerous  as  riveters  in  a  shipyard.  By  the  noon  of  his 
flares  (and  the  German  flare  was  as  much  a  thing  of  beauty  as  of  execration)  he 
brought  the  support  company  into  sharp  relief  and  showered  the  illuminated  target 
with  grenades. 

The  raid  on  Bazoches  was  a  costly  one. 

THE  "PRIVATES'  GENERAL"  TAKES  COMMAND 

It  was  at  this  point  that  the  77th  acquired  a  commander  who  was  to  see  it  through 
the  loftiest  achievements  of  its  career  to  the  armistice — Major-General  Robert 
Alexander.  From  the  training  days  of  Flanders,  Major-General  George  B.  Duncan 
had  been  in  command. 

General  Alexander  was  a  veteran  of  many  campaigns,  having  won  his  way  through 
all  the  ranks  of  the  Regular  Army,  from  that  of  private  to  colonel,  before  sailing 
for  France  in  November,  1917.  Four  weeks  later,  then  a  brigadier-general,  he 
commanded  the  41st  Division,  from  which  he  went  to  the  32nd,  one  of  the  77th's 
neighbors  on  the  Vesle.  On  August  28th,  with  the  rank  of  major-general,  he  came 
to  the  77th.  His  first  official  act  was  to  dictate  an  order  that  put  heart  and  en- 
thusiasm into  the  sorely-tried  New  Yorkers.    Having  been  an  enlisted  man,  General 

[17] 


Alexander  knew  that  a  few  words  of  commendation  from  high  sources,  that  personal 
contact  with  the  man  in  ranks,  that  consideration  for  his  welfare  would  contribute 
toward  building  up  that  unified  divisional  soul  which  animates  real  fighters.  And 
it  was  alongside  of  his  men  in  the  front  line,  encouraging  them  with  words  of  cheer, 
that  he  won  the  D.  S.  C. 

"Upon  taking  command  of  the  77th  Division,"  he  wrote,  "the  undersigned  desires  ■ 
to  express  to  the  troops  of  that  organization  his  satisfaction  in  general  terms  with 
the  record  made  by  the  division  in  the  face  of  an  enemy  at  least  equal  in  numbers 
to  ourselves,  and  who  has,  in  addition,  the  inestimable  advantage  of  four  years  of 
war.  The  division  has  attacked  with  vigor  and  with  the  aggression  requisite  to 
carry  its  undertakings  to  a  successful  conclusion.  It  has  undoubtedly  caused  more 
casualties  in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy  than  it  has  suffered,  and  finally  it  has  so  im- 
pressed its  personality  upon  the  enemy  as  to  render  him  extremely  cautious  in  his 
action  in  face  of  us.  .  .  . 

"It  is  impressed  upon  all  that  our  actions  so  far  have  been  most  creditable  and 
that  we  have  more  than  held  our  own  against  the  veteran  troops  of  our  foe.  We 
are  better  men  and  we  can  become  better  soldiers  than  our  enemies.   .   .  . 

"When  the  proper  time  comes,  as  determined  by  our  chiefs,  this  division  will 
advance,  and  will  do  its  part  as  well  as  the  American  division  on  our  right,  or  the 
division  of  our  valiant  allies  on  our  left.  We  represent  here  our  country  and  we 
are  embarked  in  a  sacred  cause,  to  which  each  and  every  man  of  us  has  pledged 
his  very  best  effort." 

Today,  in  the  chronological  records  of  the  Chief  of  Staff's  Office  in  Washington, 
there  appears  under  date  of  September  4,  six  days  after  General  Alexander's  heart- 
ening message,  this  entry: 

"At  5.15  P.M.  the  77th  Division  reports:  Patrols  along  front  cross  Vesle  and  force 
enemy  back.  One  combat  patrol  as  far  as  La  Croix  la  Motte,  between  Vauxcere  and 
Bl&nzy.     Three  battalions  across  the  Vesle." 

Before  the  77th  Division  could  be  stopped,  J]4  miles  were  once  more  part  of 
France,  and  the  Boche  had  been  driven  across  the  Aisne  with  Chemin  des  Dames  at 
at  his  back.  And  this  after  nearly  a  month  of  heartbreaking  "holding" — "holding" 
and  nothing  more,  save  death — on  the  unforgettable  Vesle. 

NEW  SPIRIT  OF  VICTORY  IS  BORN 

Of  the  exultation  of  their  advance,  and  of  their  losses  at  the  Vesle,  a  new  spirit 
had  been  born  in  the  77th — a  spirit  of  high  determination  and  cool  courage  that 
was  later  to  inspire  the  New  Yorkers  to  their  victory  in  the  Argonne. 

In  the  next  twelve  days — between  September  4th  and  15th  inclusive — against 
the  strong  rear  guard  actions  of  the  Boches,  the  77th  occupied  eleven  French 
villages  between  the  Vesle  and  the  Aisne  rivers.  Fismes  and  Fismette  had  been 
included  in  the  divisional  front;  the  other  shattered  villages  were  Bazoches,  Perles, 
Blanzy,  Vauxcere,  Merval,  Serval,  Longueval,  Barbonval,  and — almost  on  the 
Aisne,  which  paralleled  the  river — Villers-en-Prayeres. 

New  York's  Own  had  begun  "hurrying  the  Hun,"  as  its  share  in  the  Oise-Aisne 
Offensive. 

Thrilling  to  the  thought  that  this  ground  over  which  it  moved  was  its  own  by 
right  of  conquest,  the  77th  pushed  forward  under  heavy  artillery  fire,  sustaining 
losses  that  further  taxed  its  diminished  numbers.    As  an  average,  few  companies 

[18] 


had  more  than  two  officers,  whereas  they  had  started  with  six,  and  of  men,  company 
ranks  that  had  originally  totalled  250  were  now  thinned  out  to  150  and  even  less. 

The  307th  and  308th  Infantry  on  the  right  of  the  division  sector  were  faced  by 
the  Germans  on  two  sides,  north  and  east,  for  the  adjoining  division  had  been  less 
arduous  in  the  advance,  thus  leaving  the  flank  exposed.  Glennes,  La  Petite  Mon- 
tagne  and  Revillon  witnessed  many  local  engagements  of  considerable  seventy. 
Once  the  French  forced  a  way  into  Glennes,  but  were  promptly  driven  out.  After 
one  assault  in  front  of  Revillon,  a  youthful  lieutenant  of  the  308th,  the  last  of  the 
officers  of  his  company,  when  ordered  into  another  attack,  sent  back  this  message: 

"Send  me  more  men.    Only  27  of  company  left." 

In  another  combat  near  Revillon  a  captain  who  had  once  been  a  Princeton  pro- 
fessor was  shot  down  by  machine  gun  fire  after  his  lieutenant  had  been  killed.  One 
leg  and  one  arm  were  useless.  He  ordered  himself  placed  upon  a  stretcher  and  with 
the  bearers  carrying  him  up  and  down  the  field,  directed  the  attack  reclining,  until 
the  trench  objective  had  been  taken.  Nor  would  he  leave  his  men  until  ordered 
back  to  the  dressing  station  by  his  superior.  Such  insuperable  courage  well  merits 
the  Congressional  Medal  of  Honor.  And  gets  it.  His  name  is  L.  Wardlaw  Miles. 
Five  additional  similar  awards,  the  highest  Washington  can  give,  were  accorded 
the  77th,  a  record  that  stands  among  the  foremost  of  all  divisions  in  the  A.  E.  F. 

A  squad  of  men  in  Company  B,  302nd  Field  Signal  Battalion,  were  cited  in  orders 
for  a  remarkable  feat  in  liaison  work  when  they  relaid  a  telephone  line  while  under 
three  barrages,  from  La  Grotte,  the  307th's  advance  P.C.,to  Blanzy,  advance 
headquarters  of  the  154th  Brigade.  The  original  line  had  been  cut  by  shell  fire  in 
sixteen  places.  Patched  up  twice  it  "went  dead"  twice.  The  new  line,  covering 
a  distance  of  about  three  miles,  was  laid  in  an  hour  and  three-quarters.  Too  often 
the  splendid  service  of  the  signalman,  or  "trouble  shooter,"  as  he  is  called,  is  com- 
pletely overlooked. 

The  152nd  Brigade  of  Field  Artillery  made  the  consolidation  of  new  positions 
along  the  Aisne  a  hazardous  job  for  the  enemy.  The  bark  of  the  "75V  was  so 
persistent  that  one  wondered  when  the  poor  gunners  slept  or  ate.  Frequently, 
however,  the  artillerymen  would  suffer  enforced  silence — when  hostile  aviators 
dropped  low  over  their  positions  to  peek  through  their  camouflage. 

The  German  fliers  had  been  the  bane  of  the  77th's  career.  While  there  was  no 
lack  of  "archies" — or  anti-craft  guns — there  seemed  to  be  no  friendly  aviators  to 
go  out  and  repel  the  inquisitive  boche.  In  the  thickest  of  fire  from  the  "archies" 
whose  explosions  dot  the  sky  with  innumerable  Mercury  wands  outlined  in  smoke, 
the  German  airmen  playfully  dove,  banked  and  tail-spinned  to  safety,  as  if  they 
were  saying  to  the  gunners:  "Did  you  ever  see  me  do  this  one  before?" 

SIXTY-TWO  AIRPLANE  CALLS  IN  ONE  DAY 

Long  since  the  doughboy  had  learned  that  the  bugle  call  for  "Attention,"  or  a 
blast  on  a  platoon  leader's  whistle  meant:  "Enemy  plane  overhead — take  cover — 
all  movement  ceases!"  And  he  had  learned  too,  that  having  dug  in,  it  was  wise  to 
spread  boughs  over  the  fresh  earth,  if  his  modest  home  was  to  escape  aerial  observa- 
tion. The  German  aviators  had  a  prompt  method  of  telling  their  artillery  just 
where  a  Yank  position  was.  And  a  minute  or  two  later  Herr  Whizz-Bang  with  the 
famiiy  would  drop  in  on  an  unannounced  call.  A  bugler  who  took  pride  in  his  lung 
power  boasted  that  in  a  single  day  he  had  blown  a  total  of  62  airplane  calls. 

After  nearly  two  weeks  between  the  Vesle  and  the  Aisne  and  just  as  an  elaborate 

[19] 


attack  had  been  planned  upon  the  enemy,  orders  came  sending  the  8th  Italian 
Division  into  the  line  to  relieve  the  New  Yorkers. 

The  77th  had  been  in  the  front  line  for  92  days.  It  had  been  promised  a  well- 
earned  rest.  The  Vesle-Aisne  fighting  had  meant  2,200  casualties.  And  the  men 
went  out  in  the  belief  that  the  division  was  headed  south  for  rest  billets  and  leave 
or  perm,  as  the  poilu  abbreviated 'his  precious  permission. 

Its  biggest  task,  however,  still  awaited  the  77th.  In  the  eyes  of  authorities  at 
G.  H.  Q.,  Alexander's  men  had  already  fulfilled  their  leader's  prophecy  that  being 
"better  men"  they  could  "become  better  soldiers  than  our  enemies." 

To  the  former  citizens  of  New  York,  first  class  troops  now,  was  to  be  given  the 
post  of  honor  in  the  famous  Meuse-Argonne  Offensive,  the  real  determinant  of 
the  war. 

Six  hundred  and  fifty-thousand  strong,  the  Americans  attacked  on  a  20-mile  front 
in  this  great  drive.  The  Argonne  forest,  covering  a  quarter  of  the  total  frontage, 
and  constituting  the  western  fortress  of  the  renowned  Kriemhilde  Stellung  Line  was 
assigned  to  the  77th.  Incidentally,  the  "Liberty  Division"  was  scheduled  to  pass 
through  the  Hindenburg  Line  on  the  first  day  of  the  attack.  Upon  the  reduction 
of  the  Argonne  Forest  depended  largely  the  success  of  the  whole  mammoth  opera- 
tion, for  the  wilderness  was  the  extreme  western  pivot  on  which  the  other  divisions 
were  to  sweep  north. 

CREDIT  TO  WHOM  CREDIT  IS  DUE 

The  assertion  has  been  made  that  many  divisions  fought  in  the  Argonne  Forest. 
This  is  altogether  incorrect,  as  is  clearly  shown  by  General  Pershing's  official  map 
of  the  operation.  The  mistake  arises  from  the  fact  that  all  the  country  thereabouts 
was  called,  loosely,  "the  Argonne,"  just  as  the  territory  adjacent  to  the  Somme 
River  is  called  "the  Somme."  Twenty-one  divisions,  as  has  been  said,  took  part 
in  the  Meuse-Argonne  Drive,  which  was  named  from  its  boundaries — the  Meuse 
River  on  the  east  and  the  Argonne  Forest  on  the  west,  as  distinguished  from  "the 
Argonne."  For  two  days  the  28th  Division  of  Pennsylvanians  fought  through  the 
eastern  edge  of  the  forest  to  Apremont,  which  they  captured.  All  credit  is  theirs  for 
their  swift  advance.  But  for  twelve  days  after  that,  against  the  most  tremendous 
odds,  the  77th  pressed  on,  as  it  had  from  the  outset,  through  the  church-dark  glades 
of  the  forest  itself.    On  the  left  of  the  77th  was  the  Fourth  French  Army. 

Leaving  the  Aisne  on  September  15,  191 8,  the  New  Yorkers  had  made  forced 
night  marches  half  way  south  to  the  Marne,  where  once  more  they  crowded  into 
French  camions  and  raced  southeast  all  night  and  half  a  day  through  Epernay, 
through  Chalons,  through  Vitry  and  up  into  the  Argonne  Forest  to  billets  south  of 
Ste.  Menehould.  It  seems  incredible  now  that  the  exhausting  trip,  for  men  war- 
worn from  service,  can  be  reviewed  in  a  single  sentence. 

During  nearly  a  week  the  division  moved  up  cautiously  at  night  to  the  No  Man's 
Land  that  fronted  the  Hindenburg  Line.  The  concentration  of  troops  and  guns 
was  accomplished  with  greatest  secrecy.  Being  confined  strictly  to  their  barns, 
out  of  view  of  airplanes,  the  men  slept  by  day  and  lunched  at  midnight,  while 
French  troops  in  the  reserve  positions  drew  out  singing  their  rollicking  "Madelon." 
These  "crazy  Americans"  were  going  to  attack  the  Argonne  Forest!  "Eh,  bien!" 
If  it  was  the  martial  vogue  among  Americans  to  commit  heroic,  wholesale  suicide 
by  hurling  themselves  frontally  against  a  naturally  defended  position  that  had  been 
immovable  for  nearly  four  years,  fortified  lavishly  the  while,  with  the  best  grade 

[20] 


o  Sedan 

REMILLYO 


BELGIUM 


ST-MENEHOUl-D 


German  wire  and  concrete — well,  a  couple  of  eh,  biens!!  It  was  no  poilu  funeral. 
They  would  seek  out  "Madelon,"  who  would  bring  them  "something  to  drink." 
For,  despite  her  beauty,  she  was  sane — was  "Madelon." 

So  that  the  Boche  might  not  be  apprised  of  the  relief  did  he  catch  a  glimpse  of 
a  uniform  other  than  the  horizon  blue,  the  French  remained  in  the  firing  trench 
proper  until  the  historic  night  of  September  25-26.  Before  leading  up  their  men, 
American  officers  reconnoitred  the  line  in  French  uniforms. 

THE  MIGHTY  TASK  OF  SEPTEMBER  26 

Thus  it  was  another  relief-attack  from  which  the  77th  set  out  on  its  vast  venture 
at  5  '.30  on  the  morning  of  September  26.  And  that  sort  of  attack  means  that  having 
marched  miles  from  the  rear  after  dark  the  men  reach  the  "jumping  off"  trench  just 
in  time  to  be  kept  awake  for  the  remainder  of  the  night  by  the  resounding  banging 
of  the  artillery.  For  three  hours  the  152nd  Artillery  Brigade,  aided  by  heavy 
French  artillery  and  guns  of  the  Army  Corps,  hammered  sixteen  paths  through  the 
dense  wire  till  it  seemed  that  the  whole  surface  of  the  globe  must  be  quaking  with 
ague.  But  when  the  four  regiments  of  infantry — all  of  which  were  in  the  front  line 
on  account  of  the  extent  of  front — clambered  "over  the  top"  to  follow  the  leaping 
barrage,  so  heavy  a  fog  enshrouded  the  sea  of  shell  craters  that  finding  the  prepared 
passageways  was  no  easy  matter.  Contact  between  advancing  elements  in  that 
white,  clammy  blanket  was  impossible. 

Over  ravine-traversed  territory  whose  soil  had  been  blackened  by  the  hot  lead 
of  four  years  the  New  Yorkers  groped,  stumbled  and  clawed  their  way.  The  first 
trench  system,  testifying  to  the  accurate  register  of  the  artillery,  was  passed  with- 
out opposition,  but  the  jungle  was  such  that  at  noon,  when  the  earliest  machine 
guns  opened  up,  one  battalion  commander  for  a  time  could  account  for  only  five 
platoons  out  of  his  four  companies. 

The  first  prisoners  belonged  to  the  Second  Landwehr  Division,  but,  in  all,  the 
77th  was  to  encounter  four  additional  enemy  divisions.  The  casualties  of  the  open- 
ing day  were  comparatively  small,  and  the  line  had  been  advanced  about  two 
miles. 

On  the  second  day  real  resistance  was  met,  especially  from  the  inevitable  ma- 
chine guns.  After  repeated  attacks  the  305th  and  306th  took  Four  De  Zube,  the 
Abri  St.  Louis  and  St.  Hubert's  and  Barricade  pavilions.  The  latter  was  an  engi- 
neer dump  containing  more  than  #2,000,000  worth  of  material.  And  the  Yank's 
line  went  forward  about  a  mile  and  a  half.  Enemy  artillery  was  searching  for  the 
attackers,  but  its  range  was  wild. 

On  the  third  day — it  was  "over  the  top"  every  morning  now — the  305th  took 
Abri  du  Crochet,  the  307th,  Bagatelle  Pavilion.  These  pavilions  were  even  more 
inviting  than  their  name  implied,  being  collections  of  luxurious  dugouts  and 
soldatenheim,  fitted  with  blue — tiled  bath  tubs  (inconsiderately  broken)  and  other 
unbelievable  comforts. 

The  fighting  was  increasing  in  stubbornness  as  the  advance  progressed.  Ma- 
chine gun  Indian  warfare,  such  as  has  been  described,  marked  the  whole  extent  of 
the  front.  Bayonet  and  pistol  clashes  were  common.  Small  parties  of  Boches 
with  light  maxims  frequently  flanked  small  units,  and  every  abandoned  trench, 
every  innocent-looking  clump  of  bushes  might  conceal  nests  that  would  wait  for 
the  invaders  to  pass  and  then  drop  them  from  the  rear. 

[22] 


ALL   HONOR   TO    BRAVE    COL.    SMITH 

On  September  28th,  the  leading  battalion  of  the  308th,  commanded  by  Major 
Whittlesey,  was  temporarily  cut  off  by  machine  gun  parties  along  its  line  of  com- 
munications. The  division  suffered  no  greater  individual  loss  than  it  did  in  that 
of  Lt.  Col.  Fred  E.  Smith,  second  in  command  of  the  308th,  who  gave  his  life  in 
an  effort  to  reestablish  the  chain  of  runners  and  get  ammunition  and  rations  for- 
ward. He  attacked  a  machine  gun  party  single-handed,  first  having  compelled  his 
detachment  to  take  cover.  Badly  wounded  in  the  side,  the  fearless  Colonel  con- 
tinued to  advance  alone  upon  the  enemy,  pouring  a  fire  from  his  automatic  at  the 
nest  until  he  was  hit  again  and  fell  dead.  Col.  Smith,  beloved  by  every  man  who 
know  him,  is  one  of  the  77th's  Medal  of  Honor  heroes. 

On  the  following  day  relief  was  sent  forward,  and  the  308th  struck  north  again. 
Three  companies  of  the  First  Battalion,  under  Major  Whittlesey,  and  three  com- 
panies of  the  Second  Battalion,  under  Capt.  (now  Major)  George  McMurtry,  had 
orders  to  take  an  objective  along  the  Binarville-Viergette  Road,  a  little  east  of 
Charlevaux  Mill.  On  October  2nd  they  had  won  the  ground.  But  troops  of 
another  division  on  their  immediate  left  were  several  kilometres  to  their  rear. 
Company  K  of  the  307th,  on  their  right,  joined  up  with  them.  And  when  the  Ger- 
mans simply  moved  in  behind  them  from  their  exposed  left  flank  the  seven  com- 
panies of  Yanks  settled  down  to  a  siege  of  dauntless  defense  that  will  be  known 
through  all  the  days  of  world  history  as  the  stand  of  the  "Lost  Battalion." 

Of  course  that  tenacious  term  is  a  misnomer.  When  no  amount  of  "bucking" 
could  break  the  line  confronting  the  77th  on  October  1st  orders  went  out  that  each 
assaulting  unit  would  try  breaking  through  individually — regardless  of  flank  sup- 
port. Once  an  advance  element,  like  a  spearhead,  could  be  flung  out  into  hostile 
territory,  flanks  could  be  swung  up  to  connect  with  it.  And  it  was  really  the  ex- 
ploit of  the  "Lost  Battalion"  that  made  possible  the  straightening  out  of  the  77tfTs 
line  and  the  subsequent  complete  capture  of  the  Forest. 

So  much  for  the  tactics  of  it.  Everyone  knows  that  for  five  days,  against  daily 
attacks  from  an  enemy  on  all  sides,  the  half-starved  men  of  the  308th  repulsed 
every  desperate  onslaught.  Everyone  knows  that  when  nearly  half  the  700  be- 
sieged were  casualties,  an  offer  of  "honorable  surrender"  was  ignored.  But  it  is 
not  as  well  known,  probably,  that  as  many  casualties  were  suffered  in  reaching  the 
beleaguered  as  were  sustained  inside  that  rectangle  of  death. 

One  might  think  that  at  such  a  crisis  the  division  reserve  troops  would  be  sent 
to  the  rescue.     But  no. 

"This  is  a  family  affair,"  said  Brigadier-General  Johnson  to  the  officers  of  the 
remainder  of  the  154th,  "and,  as  such,  we  will  handle  it  ourselves." 

GENERAL  JOHNSON   LED  ATTACKS   IN   PERSON 

Although  a  hundred  men  of  a  single  company  went  to  earth  in  a  few  minutes 
striving  to  reach  their  stricken  comrades,  although  in  one  day  five  attacks  were 
made  upon  the  Germans — two  of  them  led  in  person  by  General  Johnson;  although 
assaults  followed  every  day  until  relief  broke  through,  no  outside  aid  was  asked. 
The  154th  Brigade  did  its  own  rescuing  when  men  of  the  307th,  from  the  right 
flanks,  joined  their  fellows  on  the  night  of  October  7th. 

What  was  happening  in  the  "Lost  Battalion's"  blood-stained  ground  during 
those  interminable  days  is  vividly  narrated  by  Capt.  William  J.  Cullen,  one  of  the 
company  commanders,  who  was  awarded  the  D.  S.  C.  for  exposing  himself  to  fire 

M 


in  order  to  signal  from  an  open  spot  to  aviators  who  were  trying  to  drop  food  within 
reach  of  the  emaciated  defenders. 

"We  had  left  along  our  march,  of  course,  a  line  of  communications,"  writes  Capt. 
Cullen,  describing  the  situation  on  the  night  of  October  2,  after  their  objective 
had  been  taken.  "Patrols  were  sent  out  on  our  right  and  left,  but  found  there 
were  no  Americans  within  three  kilometers  of  us.  We  knew  then  that  our  flanks 
had  failed  to  break  through  and  settled  down  to  wait  for  them. 

"That  night  the  Boches  attacked.  We  heard  them  coming  up,  although  we 
could  not  see  them.  The  forest  was  dense  and  observation  difficult.  They  started 
the  attack'with  a  heavy  concentration  of  machine  gun  fire  and  then,  under  cover 
of  more  machine  guns  at  our  rear,  they  came  in  close  and  bombed  us  with  'potato 
mashers/  A  couple  of  nervous  fingers  pulled  their  triggers  from  our  ranks,  but  I 
steadied  them  until  the  Boche  got  sufficiently  close  to  be  annoying  and  then  gave 
the  order:  'Commence  firing!'  The  crack  of  those  rifles  was  certainly  music  to  me. 
After  about  ten  minutes  the  Boche  retired. 

"The  next  day  they  'rolled  up/  or  chased  in  our  runner  posts,  and  then  we  knew 
that  we  were  completely  surrounded.  To  make  sure  that  he  got  us  and  to  prevent 
help  from  reaching  us  the  enemy  during  the  night  wired  the  hill  in  our  rear  and 
manned  the  position  with  a  strong  garrison  of  machine  gunners.  We  had  no  ra- 
tions now.  In  fact,  on  account  of  the  rapidity  of  our  progress,  the  men  had  had 
only  one  ration  for  the  four  preceding  days.  There  was  very  little  of  a  pleasant 
nature  to  look  forward  to.  But  there  we  were.  And,  our  orders  being  'to  hold  to 
the  last  man/  there  we  would  stay. 

"Our  troops  came  up  from  the  rear  the  next  day  and  battled  their  way  to  the 
wire.  Those  damned  machine  guns  got  in  their  deadly  work  and  the  attack  failed. 
We  knew,  however,  that  they  would  keep  at  it  until  they  reached  us  and  so  we  sat 
back  and  waited. 

"We  hadn't  waited  long  when  the  Boche  attacked  again.  They  started  with 
a  machine  gun  barrage  on  our  rear,  and  supplemented  it  with  a  couple  of  trench 
mortar  batteries,  giving  us  a  mighty  merry  time  of  it. 

LACK  OF  FOOD  BEGINS  TO  TELL 

"We  were  beginning  to  notice  our  lack  of  rations  now.  We  had  been  drinking 
water  from  shell  holes,  and  though  we  could  feel  solid  substances  in  it,  we  were 
thankful  to  have  even  that  to  drink.  The  men  were  restless  and  were  popping 
constantly  out  of  their  meagre  shelters  on  one  mission  or  another.  And  the  Boche 
was  so  close  that  a  branch  could  not  be  moved  without  attracting  a  stream  of  ma- 
chine gun  bullets.  I  talked  cheerfully  with  the  men  and  distributed  the  few  cig- 
arettes that  remained.  They  were  stout-hearted  fellows,  all  of  them.  When  I 
told  them  to  'Stick  to  it,  boys/  they  answered,  each  post  in  turn,  'Don't  worry 
about  this  post.     We'll  stick,  all  right.' 

"One  of  them,  Sidney  Smith,  was  shot  through  the  stomach.  I  told  him  he 
could  go  over  to  a  safer  place,  near  battalion  headquarters.  He  said,  'Why  I 
ain't  hurt  enough  so  I  can't  still  shoot  this  gun.'  Another  little  chap,  Miller, 
crawled  out  into  the  open  after  a  sniper  on  his  own  initiative.  His  rifle  cracked 
and  he  turned  his  head  and  said:  'I  got  him.'  But  he  couldn't  get  back  himself. 
A  Boche  sniper  got  him. 

"The  strain  was  beginning  to  tell  on  the  men  and  their  eyes  took  on  an  abnormal, 
peculiar  bulge.-    We  smoked  dry  leaves  and  ate  twigs." 

[24] 


After  detailing  with  a  humorous  touch  how  he  interviewed  a  German  prisoner 
affecting  total  indifference  the  while  to  a  two-hour  German  artillery  strafe  that 
"nearly  ruined  the  whole  deatchment"  and  caused  the  prisoner  to  squirm  in  mighty 
fear,  Capt.  Cullen,  describes  at  length  one  of  the  five  attacks,  this  time  at  night, 
to  which  the  outfit  was  subjected. 

"We  could  hear  the  Boche  around  us  shrieking  and  trying  to  intimidate  us  with 
their  schrecklichkeit. 

"  'We  have  the  Americans  just  where  we  want  them/  they  yelled.  They  closed 
in  on  us.  From  the  direction  of  his  voice  the  leader  was  just  behind  my  post  of 
command.  He  would  call  out:  'Eitel/  And  a  voice  over  to  the  left  would  an- 
swer 'Hier/  Then:  'Adolph/  Another  voice  now  on  the  front  would  answer: 
'Hier/  Then:  'Sind  deiner  men  da?*  and  the  answer:  ' Ja,  Ja!*  Then  the  son  of  a 
gun  would  shout:  iAlle  zusammen!*  (All  together),  and  thereupon  it  seemed  that 
the  law  of  gravity  had  been  reversed  and  everything  went  up  in  the  air.  They 
simply  piled  high  explosive  grenades  in  on  us.  Their  trench  mortars  rained  their 
infernal  shells.  We  couldn't  see  them,  of  course,  due  to  the  heavy  brush,  and 
waited  for  them  to  rush  us.  During  a  lull  their  leader  called  out:  'Kamerad,  vill 
you?' 

"He  seemed  to  think  that  we  were  ready  to  surrender.  That  was  about  the  last 
straw  for  me.  'Come  in  and  get  us,  you  blankety-blank-blank!'  I  yelled  at  him, 
using  the  few  cuss  words  that  I  knew  of  his  language. 

"Then  we  opened  fire  on  where  we  judged  they  were  and  gave  them  hell.  That 
settled  that  little  attack.  There  was  blood  all  round  us  the  next  day,  and  we  knew 
we  got  some  of  them. 

"Airplanes  circled  above  us  trying  to  locate  our  position.  It  was  a  hard  job  for 
them,  concealed  as  we  were  under  the  trees.  One  day  an  aviator  came  down  very 
low.  I  jumped  out  into  an  open  space,  and,  lying  on  my  back,  waved  a  dirty  white 
towel  to  him.  He  signalled:  'Understood/  I  was  rewarded  with  a  shower  of  ma- 
chine gun  bullets  which  chirped  all  around  me.  The  next  day  the  aviators  tried  to 
drop  food  to  us,  but  we  could  not  reach  it.  Think  of  Jerry  getting  it — chocolate, 
cigarettes  and  bully  beef! 

"On  the  morning  of  October  8th,  about  I  A.  M.,  I  was  dozing  in  my  bunk  hole 
when  I  heard  a  voice  calling,  'Lieutenant,  Lieutenant!'  I  thought  it  was  time  to 
repulse  another  Boche  attack.  But  it  was  my  battalion  runner  with  a  little  gunny 
sack  containing  bread  and  two  cans  of  bully  beef.  He  brought  a  message  from 
the  Major  that  our  right  flank  had  come  up  and  that  a  patrol  had  reached  us  with 
a  few  rations.  I  opened  up  the  bully  beef,  took  a  fork  from  my  mess  kit  and  went 
around  my  posts  on  a  tour  of  inspection.  I  told  the  men  what  had  happened  and, 
to  prove  the  truth  of  what  I  said — it  seemed  so  incredible — I  gave  each  man  a  fork- 
ful of  'bully/     We  were  ready  to  go  on  for  another  six  days  then." 

So  it  was  that  relief  came  to  the  "Lost  Battalion" — its  whole  significance,  like 
the  significance  of  the  great  moments  of  life,  being  epitomized  in  a  very  little  thing, 
"a  forkful  of  bully." 

PERSONAL   CONGRATULATIONS    FROM   GENERAL   PERSHING 

Lacking  sleep,  with  only  a  minimum  of  rations,  cold  from  the  continuous  rains, 
reduced  still  more  in  number  by  their  unstinted  self-sacrifice  in  rescuing  their  sur- 
rounded "buddies,"  the  men  of  the  77th  spurred  themselves  to  the  completion  of 
their  task — the  clearing  of  the  forest. 

[25J 


Past  the  fateful  Binarville-Viergette  road  they  pressed  into  country  that  was 
beginning  to  open  up.  The  same  deadly  machine  gun  nests  were  encountered, 
the  same  foot-by-foot  fighting  was  necessary  until  the  enemy  fell  back  from  their 
main  line  of  resistance,  crushed  in  spirit  at  the  square-chinned  persistence  of  these 
New  Yorkers. 

By  October  ioth,  after  a  gain  of  several  kilometers,  the  forest  was  solely  Ameri- 
can. It  was  a  great  day  for  the  77th  when  General  Pershing  himself  came  all  the 
way  from  Chaumont  to  visit  them.  Not  that  he  could  see  them  formally  assem- 
bled, of  course,  for  the  fight  was  still  on.  But  he  had  come  up  to  General  Alexan- 
der's Boche  dugout  over  the  identical  entangled  ground  for  which  the  "Liberty 
Boys"  had  paid  so  dearly.  The  "C-in-C"  himself  knew  now  what  it  had  been 
like.  And  word  trickled  up  along  the  line  that  the  Commander  in  Chief  had  said 
the  whole  American  Army  was  admiring  the  77th  for  its  conquest. 

What  were  Jerry's  chances  after  that?  What  if  he  had  thrown  in  three  fresh 
divisions  against  them?  With  the  strange  sun  warm  upon  them  again  the  division 
sprang  forward  more  than  six  miles  during  October  9th  and  ioth,  occupying  the 
little  villages  of  La  Besoqne,  Chevieres  and  Marq. 

On  October  12th  there  was  more  praise  for  the  77th  in  the  following  commenda- 
tion: 

"ADVANCED  HEADQUARTERS  FIRST  ARMY  CORPS. 

Oct.  12,  IQl8. 

From:  Commanding  General,  1st  Army  Corps,  U.  S. 
To:  Commanding  General,  77th  Division,  U.  S. 
Subject:  Commendation. 

1.  The  Corps  Commander  directs  me  to  inform  you  that  he  feels  once  more 
during  the  present  operations  called  upon  to  express  his  gratification  and  appre- 
ciation of  the  work  of  the  77th  Division. 

2.  This  division  has  been  in  the  line  constantly  since  the  night  of  the  25th  of 
September  under  circumstances  at  least  as  difficult  as  those  which  have  confronted 
any  other  division  of  the  1st  Army. 

3 .  In  spite  of  these  conditions  your  command  has  pushed  steadily  forward  on  a 
line  with  the  foremost,  and  today,  after  eighteen  days  of  constant  fighting,  is  still 
ready  to  respond  to  any  demand  made  upon  it. 

4.  The  Corps  Commander  is  proud  indeed  of  such  a  unit  as  yours  and  con- 
gratulates you  on  such  a  command. 

MALIN  CRAIG, 

Chief  of  Staff." 

It  must  have  been  on  words  of  encouragement  that  the  doughboys  kept  going 
these  days.  Even  in  their  sore  straits  there  was  still  another  exacting  task  for 
them  in  the  attacks  on  St.  Juvin  and  Grand  Pre.     But  the  thing  was  done  somehow. 

The  Aire  river  offered  a  serious  obstacle  to  both  objectives.  Swimming,  wading 
and  on  rafts,  troops  of  the  153rd  Brigade  left  the  Aire  at  their  back 
on  October  14th  and  under  heavy  artillery  fire  from  heights  to  the  north 
forced  their  way  into  St.  Juvin  inside  of  an  hour.  The  Second  and  Third  Battal- 
ions, 305th,  supported  the  attack  of  the  Second  Battalion  of  the  306th.  But  it 
was  really  a  single  company — and,  at  that,  a  company  with  less  than  30  men  left 
when  they  invaded  the  town — which  captured  the  strong  point. 

[26] 


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O  ARCI5  - 

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FERE-EN-TAROENOIS 


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KILOMETERS 


/  /'oCOULONGES-ih-tardemois 

•  77»DM5IOfS  • 

•  IN  •  THE.- 

OI5L-AI3NL  •  OFFENSIVE.- 


INFURIATED   DOUGHBOY   INTIMIPATES    SCORE    OF    GERMANS 

The  story  is  told  that  a  Jew  and  an  Irishman  were  the  first  into  St.  Juvin  as 
scouts.  Cautiously,  they  were  proceeding  along  a  village  street  when  from  a 
window  a  Boche  bullet  sang  past  the  Irishman's  ear.  He  dropped.  The  Jew, 
thinking  his  partner  had  been  killed,  rushed  in  terrible  fury  toward  the  house, 
grenades  ready,  shouting:  "Out — come  out,  quick." 

The  Irishman,  to  the  amazement  of  his  angry  comrade,  joined  him,  and  between 
them  filed  more  than  a  score  of  weaponless  Germans,  headed  by  a  battalion  com- 
mander. 

In  a  short  time  the  eighteen  doughboys  who  were  following  the  two  scouts  had 
rounded  up  360  prisoners.  The  odds  had  been  18  to  1  against  the  New  Yorkers. 
Who  will  venture  to  express  the  feeling  of  the  Boche  when  they  learned  that  fact? 

While  the  enemy  was  futilely  counter-attacking  in  St.  Juvin  on  the  following 
day  the  154th  Brigade  took  Grand  Pre,  the  307th  flooding  in  upon  it  from  three 
sides.  The  town  was  mopped  up  after  the  German  flight  and  on  the  same  night 
the  78th  relieved  the  exhausted  New  Yorkers. 

Now,  when  they  gather  around  the  post-office  stove  in  the  years  to  come  and 
recapture  Grand  Pre  nightly,  no  78th  Division  man  will  ever  concede  that  the  77th 
took  even  a  lamp  post  in  the  village.  Nor  will  any  77th  man,  as  he  bites  viciously 
into  another  dried  apricot,  ever  admit  that  the  78th  was  capable  of  taking  anything 
but — extreme  care. 

The  dispute,  at  this  early  date,  was  best  settled  by  a  disinterested  party  in  the 
person  of  "The  Stars  and  Stripes"  historian.  This  authority  states,  in  effect,  that 
Grand  Pre  was  twice  taken  on  different  occasions,  first  by  the  77th,  and  later  by 
the  78th.  Which  should  make  it  unnecessary  for  the  postmaster  to  put  in  a  bill 
for  damages. 

THE  CAPTORS  OF  GRAND  PRE 

"The  enemy  resisted  violently  and  the  advance  was  slow,"  writes  the  mediator, 
of  the  attack  on  Grand  Pre,  "but  patrols  of  the  307th  finally  got  across  the  river 
(the  Aire)  by  enfiltration,  reached  the  town  by  5:30  in  the  evening,  and  had  it  in 
possession  an  hour  later.  Foot  bridges  across  the  river  were  built  after  the  patrols 
got  over,  the  whole  battalion  crossed,  and  the  next  day  the  town  proper  was  organ- 
ized for  defense  along  its  west  and  north  edges,  exclusive  of  the  steep  hill  at  the  north 
end  on  which  stand  a  chateau  and  park. 

"Under  these  conditions,  with  the  extreme  left  in  not  very  complete  contact  with 
the  right  of  the  French  forces  down  the  Aire  below  Grand  Pre,  the  77th  Division 
was  relieved  by  the  78th. 

"Moving  up  from  the  1st  Corps  reserve  near  Montblainville  and  Varennes  to 
relieve  the  77th  Division,  the  78th  became  somewhat  confused  on  unfamiliar  roads 
and  did  not  reach  its  positions  as  soon  as  was  expected.  The  consequence  was  that 
the  312th  Infantry,  relieving  elements  of  the  77th  Division  in  Grand  Pre,  did  not 
get  possession  of  the  whole  town,  into  part  of  which  the  Germans  returned  and 
were  only  ejected  again  after  several  days  of  severe. fighting." 

If  the  officers*  mess  waxed  tactical  over  the  capture  of  Grand  Pre,  not  so  the 
doughboys'  crap  circles  during  the  two  weeks'  breathing  spell  accorded  the  77th 
in  ex-German  dugouts,  just  in  back  of  the  line,  where  they  rested,  drew  equipment 
and  received  "replacements"  between  October  16  and  31. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  division's  career  in  France,  some  leaves  had  been  granted 

[28] 


for  Paris  and  Nice.  Then  they  weie  rec'rllod.  .:f?7t!i  Front  and,  Center!"  was  the 
command.  The  American  line  was  to  go  f  inward  toward  historic  Sedan  on  Novem- 
ber I,  and  the  old  reliable  77th  was  to  "lead  all  the  rest"  in  the  matter  of  gaining 
ground  during  its  second  long  "hitch"  in  the  big  offensive. 

CRASHING  THROUGH  THE  KRIEMHILDE  STELLUNG 

Once  more  the  risky  relief-attack  was  made,  the  Liberty  Division  taking  over 
from  the  78th  almost  the  identical  line  it  had  left.  The  artillery  preparation  was 
superbly  thunderous — two  hours  of  winged  hell  for  the  Boche. 

The  153rd  Brigade  led  off  against  the  renowned  Kriemhilde  Stellung,  up  a  steep 
hill  towards  Champigneulle.  The  resistance  on  the  first  day  was  intensely  powerful 
and  little  headway  was  made.  November  2,  however,  saw  Champigneulle  and  four 
smaller  villages  in  Yankee  hands — Verpel,  Thenorgues,  Harricourt  and  Bar.  The 
irrepressible  doughboy  made  his  jokes  about  the  last  of  his  acquisitions.  It  was  some 
consolation,  he  opined,  to  descend  upon  a  French  Bar,  even  if  someone  had  taken 
from  him  a  similar  privilege  in  his  native  land  during  his  absence. 

The  Boches  were  falling  back  headlong  now,  and  the  Yank  was  nearing  the  climax 
of  his  Hun-hurrying.  It  was  even  contemplated  sending  the  infantry  forward  in 
motor  trucks,  but  the  roads  did  not  permit. 

Through  Autruche,  Fontenoy  and  St.  Pierremont  the  306th  sped  on  November  3, 
capturing  two  German  batteries — light  guns — that  could  not  pull  out  in  time,  so 
fast  was  the  onrush  of  the  doughboy.  That  blithe  soul  was  now  living  largely  on 
German  cabbage  because  the  rations  could  not  keep  up  with  him. 

On  the  fourth  day  of  the  advance  the  154th  Brigade  "telescoped"  the  leading 
brigade  on  the  run — an  exceedingly  difficult  form  of  relief  that  effects  unchecked 
progress.  The  town  of  Oches  was  taken  that  day,  marking  a  total  advance  of  about 
fifteen  miles  since  the  start. 

There  was  intermittent  machine  gun  resistance  and  considerable  harassing  artil- 
lery fire  at  all  stages  of  the  advance.  In  justice  to  the  individual  German  machine 
gunner  it  must  be  said  that,  generally,  he  knew  how  to  die.  Left  behind  by  his 
retreating  organization  on  an  assignment  almost  the  equivalent  of  handing  him  his 
death  warrant,  he  stayed  grimly  at  his  maxim  and  sold  his  life  as  dearly  as  he  could. 
And  this,  to  give  his  comrades  more  time  to  flee. 

BUSY  OCCUPYING  SEVENTEEN  TOWNS 

Nine  miles  were  added  to  the  division's  gain  on  November  6  after  the  occupation 
of  Stonne  and  La  Besace.  French  civilians  in  these  villages  had  been  under  Ger- 
man rule  for  nearly  four  years.  They  had  been  lined  up  every  morning  by  the 
iinteroffizier  and  marched  off  to  various  occupations  like  serfs.  With  the  advent 
of  the  Americans  they  cried  and  laughed  hysterically,  even  embracing  some  of  their 
liberators,  much  to  the  latter's  extreme  confusion. 

By  the  night  of  November  6,  the  77th  was  practically  at  the  Meuse,  having 
gone  through  Flaba,  Autrecourt  and  Haraucourt  after  stern  opposition  from  artil- 
lery and  machine  guns. 

The  next  day — November  7 — the  advance  continued  through  Raucourt,  Meuse- 
la-Angecourt  and  Remilly.  The  77th  was  now  holding  the  Meuse  heights,  with 
Sedan  about  five  miles  away  and  visible  in  the  distance. 

With  the  clearing  of  the  Argonne  Forest,  and  the  whirlwind  finish  to  the  Meuse, 
the  New  Yorkers  had  driven  north  for  nearly  38  miles — the  record  gain  for  any 

[29] 


American  division — and  seventeen  French  villages  had  been  restored  to  pathetically 
grateful  peasants. 

The  boys  were  on  tip-toe  for  the  crossing  of  the  river,  and  patrols  of  the  305th 
and  307th  did  force  passages  at  Villers  and  Remilly,  respectively,  under  withering 
fire.  The  anticipation  was  that  the  "watermelon,"  of  which  the  77th  sang  so  many 
centuries  earlier  at  Camp  Upton,  was  really  to  be  eaten  "on  the  Rhine."  But  when 
the  tidbit  was  almost  at  their  lips  the  armistice  banished  it  as  forbidden  fruit. 

This  is  not  to  say  that  there  was  disappointment  at  the  termination  of  hostilities. 
The  "Cease  Firing"  order,  however,  had  no  such  hilarious  aftermath  in  the  front 
line  as  it  did  among  the  folks  at  home.  On  the  contrary  the  armistice  found  the 
men  of  the  77th  quiet  and  deliberative.  They  were  glad  that  the  bloodshed  was 
ended — yes,  a  thousand  times,  but  contemplative  as  to  the  future  out  of  their 
recent  experiences — eager  for  stabilized  peace;  eager  that  their  country  might  see 
through  their  own  lessoned  eyes  the  error  of  unpreparedness,  and  yet  fearful  of 
over-preparedness  and  its  blight  of  militarism. 

Better,  more  thoughtful,  more  loyal  citizens  they  are  for  their  warring — the  men 
of  the  77th.  And  whereas  New  York  City  sent  forth  a  heterogeneous  mass,  she 
has  welcomed  back  a  unified  class,  annealed  like  tested  steel  in  the  fires  that  burn 
out  impurities— the  fires  that  leave  the  American  wholly  American. 


NOTE — This  booklet,  while  accurate  and  complete  in  its  treatment  of  the  77th  Division's  career,  does 
not  pretend,  of  course,  to  set  forth  the  divisional  history  as  elaborately  as,  nor  in  the  detail  of  an  official 
history  published  by  the  77th  Division  Association  in  a  volume  of  250  pages,  with  many  maps,  illustrations 
and  photographs.  The  official  history  is  sold  for  such  laudable  purposes  as  providing  for  dependent 
families  of  men  killed  in  France,  aiding  the  disabled  to  start  anew  in  life  and  offering  a  home  to  such  of 
New  York's  ex-soldiers  as  may  need  it. 


[30] 


ARTILLERY  OF  THE  77TH  IN  VERSE 


(To  the  tune  of  "Home,  Boys,  Home!") 

Oh,  first  we  went  to  Baccaat  to  learn  to  fight  the  Huns, 
And  all  we  did  was  eat  and  sleep;  we  never  worked  the  guns; 
The  Germans  never  fought  by  night,  they  never  fought  by  day- 
A  quiet  place  to  learn  to  fight  was  up  in  Reherrey! 


Home,  boys,  home,  its  home  we  ought  to  be 
Home,  boys,  home,  in  the  land  of  liberlee 
For  the  ash  and  the  oak  and  the  sour  apple  tree 
They  all  grow  together  up  in  North  A  merikeel 


Oh,  then  we  went  to  Farm  des  Dames  across  from  old  Bazoches, 
And  took  up  a  position  for  to  harass  Henry  Boche. 
But  Henry  shelled  us  night  and  day  and  gassed  us  in  between — 
As  hot  a  spot  was  Farm  des  Dames  as  any  I  have  seen. 

Then  we  went  across  the  Vesle  and  up  to  Vauxcerc, 
The  doughboys  tried  to  catch  the  Hun,  but  he  was  on  his  way. 
Yet  when  we  settled  in  the  town  he  ranged  us  to  a  dot, 
And  every  time  he  wanted  to  he  dropped  one  on  the  spot. 

Then  the  Wops  relieved  us  and  we  went  out  south  by  west 
And  hiked  from  Fismes  to  Menehould  with  never  any  rest; 
We  took  up  a  position  on  a  hill  above  Chalade 
With  all  the  big  and  little  guns  the  U.  S.  Army  had. 

Then  we  fought  the  Argonne,  from  Harazee  to  Grandpre, 

And  took  in  Abri  Crochet  and  La  Viergette  on  the  way — 

We  showed  the  Hun  some  fighting  and  some  brand  new  Yankee  tricks, 

Then  we  handed  Heinie's  number  to  an  outfit  from  Camp  Dix. 

Next  we  all  were  granted  leave  and  hit  the  trail  for  Nice, 
But  first  we  spent  a  week  in  Paris  dodging  the  police; 
Then  Pershing  planned  another  drive  and  called  us  to  the  line 
Because  he  knew  without  us"  he  could  never  cross  the  Rhine. 

We  started  with  a  mighty  push,  and  soon  were  in  a  race — 
The  nags  the  *Frogs  had  given  us  could  never  stand  the  pace, 
So  we  parked  the  First  Battalion  in  the  city  of  Verpel 
And  sent  the  dizzy  Second  on  to  give  the  Dutchmen  hell! 

The  Second  started  hell-for-leather  riding  over  France. 
They  tried  to  catch  the  infantry  but  never  got  a  chance; 
McDougal  got  a  section  up  and  got  it  damn  well  hit — 
And  then  the  Boche  decided  it  was  time  for  them  to  quit. 

Oh,  now  the  war  is  over  and  we'll  soon  be  safe  at  home, 

All  sitting  in  Bustanoby's  and  blowing  off  the  foam, 

The  Germans  fought  a  dirty  war  and  raised  a  lot  of  hell, 

But  when  they  got  the  Yankee's  goat,  then  they  were  **S.  O.  L. 


French . 

Surely  "out  of  luck. 


•   mo\Lb^Am)mt  forest  '   H 


Gay  lord  Bros. 

Makers 

Syracuse,  N.  Y. 

PAT.  JAN.  21,  1908 


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